Return To Innocence
by AleTheHOUSEwife
Summary: What happens when your friends are the only mystery you can't solve? Love and friendship clash as House blinks awake from a coma and finds out how he got there. Wilson, Cuddy, post season 7.
1. Chapter 1

Another multi-level time-machine like story. I don't want anyone to be confused so I'll just explain this before you start reading:

- 2017 = time of narration. House wakes up in a hospital, but of course he doesn't remember how he got there.

- 2013 = House has to face the fact that everyone moved on while he was paying the price of his recklessness. These are all flashbacks.

What happened in the past will explain House's current state. Oh, and as a side note. This story has a happy ending!

* * *

><p><strong>Return to Innocence<strong>

–

_A H/Cu story_

by Ale

–

_Nobody said it was easy, _

_It's such a shame for us to part. _

_Nobody said it was easy, _

_No one ever said it would be this hard. _

_Oh take me back to the start._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

_Summertime, and the livin' is easy._

–

Jun 11, 2017

–

Light.  
><em>Lights<em>.

White, bright lights. Music. Was it Jazz?

House slowly turned his head and saw a vase with three golden daffodils waving in the breeze on the bedside table. An iPod was plugged to a couple of portable speakers.

A rush of warmth stroked the left side of his face. Sunlight filtered through a large window facing what seemed to be a green or park... The _hospital_ park. That's where he was.

House screwed his eyes for a second. That was definitely not a dream. How had he ended up there?

Motion at his bedside.

"House!"

Who was it? Oh, yes. Wilson. The man had just jumped to his feet from a leather armchair pulled up to the wall in front of his bed and was now staggering unsteadily toward him. From Wilson's upset look, House couldn't really tell if he was happy to see him.

He just closed his eyes and slipped away once again.

–

**Six years earlier**

_No one knows what it's like _

_To be a bad man_

_To be a sad man_

_Behind blue eyes._

They had him in jail by the end of the second week. It had been easy to give in, almost natural, as he held out his wrists for the handcuffs to enclose them at last. All around, the arrival gate had gone silent, everyone frozen on their feet to stare at the scene. Someone had pulled a rolled newspaper from the hand baggage, and so the merciless information had leaked from mouth to mouth, until everyone in the terminal had been aware that the person being arrested before their curious eyes had rammed his car through the windows of a house, out of love craziness for a woman who could not sustain his many flaws and had put an end to a doomed relationship.

That was it. That was what their eyes showed through their reflections as he was being escorted outside the airport by the NYPD.

He had felt the weight of his actions, eventually. But not back then.

That time, he just felt nothing: the same, blank and hollow nothingness which had emptied his sick soul when she had gone away; the same nothingness filling his stare when he was driving his car into her house. What was he thinking? He did not know. The most frightening doubt, one that kept him awake at night, staring at the ceiling of his cell, was whether or not he was aware that he could hurt them all. Hurt Rachel if she had been there, or Julia, who definitely was. Hurt the people in her life. Hurt _her_. He could not help but feel nauseous at the filth that act had poured onto his already damaged soul.

But none of that had happened when they had taken him.

None of that had happened when Wilson had come to visit, looking so upset he could not even put together a meaningful sentence.

None of that had happened when those other screw-ups played cat and mouse with him. None of that had happened when he had felt blood leaking through his nose and mouth, his arm twisted in an unnatural position while he lied on the ground, flat on his stomach, forced in that position by someone whose nickname he could not even remember. He could still remember the tattoos, that was for sure. He had gotten a pretty detailed view of the names and figures on the guy's arm while he was suffocating him in a choke-hold, just before kicking him to the floor with his utterly unnecessary strength. A cripple could easily be knocked down, but that seemed not to cross the guy's mind as he was having fun with him using all of his might. Then, all the others had come. They had his shirt ripped and his torso exposed, and they were laughing so hard while trying to pull his pants off that the guard had finally decided to notice. That was a second after they had spotted his scar. That was a second after everyone had gone silent. But still, he had felt nothing more than the chills running down his spine as he lied partly naked on the cold, tiled and bloody floor of a stupid prison which he had shoved himself in.

House knew very well _when_ he had felt it. The filth taking over. It had been a bit later than that, when they had taken him to the court for the first hearing, to let him hear the charges he was facing. He was so beat-up and weak that he had wished they would save him the shame of going there. Instead, someone had pushed him into a wheelchair and wheeled him in front of the judge. In front of her.

That was the moment he had realized how incredibly unforgivable he was. He had wished he could sink in the wheelchair, to hide his bruises and the broken jaw, the stitches on his right cheek, the plaster enclosing his left arm and the brace protecting his crushed ribs. He had felt the utter weight of it all when their gazes had met for the first time, when he had seen so much pity in the broken glance she had flashed at him, that he had gotten even angrier at himself for not succeeding in eliciting hate from her.

Anger, that was definitely there. Disappointment, also. Disbelief, still lingering on her features from that day. But not the slightest sign of the hate he knew he deserved, he wished he had finally been able to raise. When she had seen him being wheeled into the courtroom, all these feelings had dissipated to provide room for an incredulous stare. In her eyes, only surprise and pity. That was when he had realized he was paying the price to the last cent. That was when he had realized what he had done to her, to himself, to a broken-hearted Wilson staring at him from the second row behind Cuddy. He was sick of how pitiful he looked. Nauseated by her compassion. He did not deserve any of that, and most of all he did not deserve compassion from her. He just deserved each and every kick hitting his ribs and clenched fist stuffed into his mouth, and he deserved to be forever excluded from whatever human contact and feeling. He deserved every broken rib, bruise and drop of blood he had shed. He deserved his own filth, the smell of whatever good still resided inside his soul going rotten, he deserved the atrocity of his nightmares, where the voices from his life of mistakes called him the loser he had always been sure he was.

They had never reached the trial. Not even the preliminary phase. The charges were clear and well proven, and he had no intention of denying his actions to anyone.

He'd pled guilty.

Almost two years later, Wilson had come to take him home. It was the end of May, 2013.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Fall from grace_

–

Jun 11, 2017

–

Cuddy cleared her voice, screwing her eyes at the blinding summer sun shining in the bluest of skies. She adjusted the microphone.

"...And this is why the the Princeton University School of Medicine is proud to graduate the class of 2017. The developing scientific research is going to demand from you the most of your time and energies, as you are among the best now, to be _the_ best tomorrow, in order to meet the high standards that all of us, as Physicians, are constantly challenged to reach and overpass. As in today, June 11th 2017..." The Dean of Medicine had an imperceptible hesitation in her voice, then swallowed an went on. "As in today, June 11th 2017, you are out in the world as Doctors. May the faith in your work never cease you." The Dean's voice softened as she raised a smile at the boys and girls in black graduation gowns standing in front of her. "Congratulations, kids."

Cuddy, in cap and gown, stood still upon the wooden stand for a moment, hands wrapped around the microphone, watching the crowd on the grass happily clap their hands to her sincere, wishful speech. Then, a Board member sitting behind her came forward to present the parchments to each new graduate. Cuddy walked to the back of the stand, hitting the grass with her stiletto heels, her formal gown waving solemnly in the breeze of summer, slightly parting to show her beautiful pearl-grey fitted v-neck satin dress.

"Mommy!"

A fair-haired little girl ran to her, silky curls loose on her shoulders, thin arms held out. Cuddy crouched to hug her, ruffling her soft hair as he she took her mortarboard and tried it on herself, giggling as the large cap slided down to her nose. Cuddy adjusted the cap on her daughter's head and drew back a little to have a better look at her.

"You look beautiful, honey."

She placed a kiss on the girl's right cheek.

"Can I keep it? Please..."

"Of course baby."

At that exact, same moment, Cuddy's beeper went off. She pulled it from the left pocket of her gown and saw the name written on the small, blue screen. Everything around her went dark and silent as her thoughts flew inside the hospital building to the fourth floor. She flashed a glance at Rachel.

"Rach, sweetie. Stay around here, okay?"

She kissed her forehead and dashed away.

* * *

><p><strong>Four years earlier<strong>

January, 2013

–

Wilson poured some ruby, fizzy wine in Cuddy's flute-glass. The restaurant's soft lights projected flickering glares on the immaculate linen cloth. She was beautiful: her dark, pulled-up hair crowned her perfect features, few rebellious curly locks stroking her pale neck as they lazily relapsed down to her shoulders. She was wearing a pearly necklace which she kept fiddling with, running the shiny small spheres through her french-tipped fingers. It was a freezing night, as Princeton was being slowly covered in white by the first snowfall of the year. House had been out of jail for about six months. Wilson tried to distract his own attention from his friend. Things had gone the way they had gone, and no one had purposely tried to influence the course of life. Certainly not him, or Cuddy.

They guardedly looked at each other for few minutes, flavoring their expensive Italian dinner. Then Wilson decided it was time.

"Lisa."

She lifted her eyes up to him as he went on.

"I was wondering... It's been going on for an entire year. I mean... _us_, we've been... House..."

"Don't."

She escaped eye contact. House was a sensitive topic, and this had definitely leaked out of Wilson's lips.

"I'm sorry. I mean... He's..."

"He's trying. He'll cope eventually. We shouldn't..."

"I know."

Wilson's eyes saddened. She raised a smile, placing her hand over his.

"Hey. Let's not talk about him tonight, shall we?"

"I'm sorry."

She turned serious, her eyes piercing his.

"Listen. I'm happy with you."

Wilson looked relieved. He felt the weight of his own idiocy in mentioning House. That was just wrong for everyone. She sipped her wine.

"My daughter's happy. I am happy. We don't need any more drama in our lives. This year has been... good. With you." She smiled.

That was the moment. Wilson slipped his right hand into his pocket and found it. A velvet, tiny jewelry box.

"Lisa, will you..."

She dropped her fork, which noisily fell down to the porcelain, round hand-painted plate. Wilson blushed the life out of him while placing the small box onto the table.

"Look, I've been an idiot. I'm sorry. I am so _very_ sorry..."

But she silenced him with a sudden kiss which left him breathless. That was definitely a yes.

_Will you marry me._

* * *

><p>June 2, 2013<p>

–

" 'Morning. We've got a case."

House busted in with a case file in his hands, slamming the door to the conference room closed. Thirteen stepped back as she almost got it on her nose. Then she entered the room, following House. She held copies of the chart to the team.

"White male, 45, came in this morning..."

She was interrupted by someone cracking the door open once again. It was Wilson. House turned back and saw him. He froze him with a single, piercing glance.

"What do you want?"

"I need to talk to you."

"I'm working."

Wilson seemed to be in some kind of hurry. House slammed the case file on the glass table and limped his way out. They were now in the deserted corridor of the fourth floor.

"So what?"

His tone didn't allow any kind of hesitation and wasn't even trying to hide the coldness. Wilson lowered his stare, hands on his hips.

"House, I've been thinking. It's been months now. I mean, since we quit... being friends."

"And?"

"And I know why."

"That's not true."

"It is. It's because of Cuddy."

House leaned back against the wall, tightening the grip on his right thigh. It was true and Wilson was right. They had never talked about what had happened after he had gotten out of prison. The way he had hurt her before realizing he was the prisoner of his own drug-induced delusions still sent a sting to his heart. Destroying her like that for something she couldn't do for him had been the most horrendous way to tell her he needed her help. In his mind, she had forgiven all of that, but none of that had really happened in real life. In real life, all he'd gotten was the pity in her eyes when they had seen each other in court. And the blank stares he had received from her two years later, when he had come back to work. She had moved on.

Everyone had moved on.

House pierced Wilson with his ocean-blue globes.

"Cuddy was born with a brain. Which is completely useless and screwed up. But it's her own. She dumped me, I wreaked havoc, I went to jail. And she ran to you."

"We didn't... it just...You've been there for two years. It _happened_, House."

Wilson was truly sorry. Truly and deeply. He was being sincere to his best friend: it had happened and that was all. They had denied it to themselves, but in the end they were alone, and they had found comfort in each other's heart. Wilson wasn't at peace with being with her instead of House, but in the end, that was the first time he was acting selfishly. He had thought they deserved to try, as much as he thought House had had a thousand chances. And Cuddy had completely leaned against him and his tireless commitment to her happiness, and Rachel's. It was that kind of love rooted in friendship, one that neither of them had ever experienced. Adulthood had brought them a different kind of feeling, which gave them much more certainty. Although he had never gotten the courage to tell her, Wilson knew that chasing House would have brought Cuddy in the middle of nowhere. He had secretly hoped for his friends to finally succeed, and he had played his role in that. But in the end, during those months with House being unreachable, without even holding the certainty he would come out of that place as he once was, Wilson had grown fonder and fonder of his friend. And suddenly, something had changed between them. One morning, he had woken up to the love of her. He flashed a heart-broken look at his former best friend, who, by the way, bitterly addressed him.

"I don't care what you do. Be happy."

"House, don't be an idiot."

"Wait. Who's the idiot here? You are being an idiot, telling me I am an idiot while, being the idiot you are, you can't even enjoy your happy ending. _Idiot_."

Wilson stood silent for a moment, then he just couldn't keep the words from leaking out of his mouth. He was angry. And sorry. But still angry. Very. About one year had passed from the moment he had picked House up from jail. That evening, he had told him the truth. Without her being there, he thought it would have been easier. But it hadn't been easy, at all. House had tiredly stood up from the couch in his friend's living room. Grabbing his bag, he had cracked the door open and walked out of the apartment without a word elapsing from his lips. Since then, he hadn't spoken to him or Cuddy either. Indifferently, the days had strung out one by one along their lives. It was as if nothing between them had ever existed. Nor friendship, nor resentment. House's attitude towards them had been an hymn to nothingness.

Wilson felt a rush of blood burning his face. He hated what they had become.

"Cut the crap, House. I'm not here for a play on words. You... you think I ripped you off. Intentionally."

The moment he said it, he regretted his words. House was looking sickly pale, his hands were slightly shaking as he tried not to show any emotion arising from their first confrontation on that matter. His eyes were glistening: he turned even paler and clenched his fist on the door handle.

"That's not true."

Wilson took a step forward.

"House. Please."

He grabbed House's cotton-clad forearm before he could sneak back inside his office. He couldn't let him go once again.

"Damn it, Wilson!"

House abruptly turned to face him, yelling his name as he pulled away, eyes burning. Wilson stepped back, taken by surprise. House seemed to be about to tell him something, but then he just didn't. He disappeared inside the conference room. What Wilson or Cuddy did was none of his business. Not anymore: they were better off without him.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**Sometimes you can't make it (on your own)**

* * *

><p>June 11, 2017<p>

"Mom!" Rachel's flowered dress waved in the breeze at the rhythm of her steps hitting the soft grass. "Mom..."

Cuddy froze and turned back, trying to hide the concern that was pushing its way through her airways, keeping her throat in a choke-hold. She dropped the pager back in her purse.

"What... what is it, Rachel?"

Rachel escaped eye-contact.

"You said we could stay together today. That it was a party."

Cuddy exhaled. She knew that broken promises were not the best strategy to earn her daughter's trust. Rachel had been at her mother's place all week because of her night shifts and the daily, feverish preparations for the graduation ceremony. When Arlene could not take care of her, Rachel was Wilson's shadow. She loved spending time with him as much as staying at her grandmother's. But she missed her mom and she had been waiting for that day for the previous weeks. Cuddy could see all that in the girl's eyes, her disappointed stare wandering far from her mother.

"Rachel, listen." Cuddy kneeled in front of her daughter. "I'm sorry. There's... someone... a friend of mine. He's very, very sick, honey. I need to see him now."

"It's House."

"Yes, honey."

"Can I come?"

Cuddy startled.

"Rachel... he's... there will be doctors. And we might have to... do things."

"Mom."

"What?"  
>Cuddy's beeper went off once again inside her purse.<p>

"Is he going to die today?"

Cuddy felt a rush of blood to the cheeks, trying to restrain her own fear and hide the struggle from the little girl.

"Maybe."

She jumped to her feet, trying to choke the life out of her vibrating purse. Rachel fixed her stare into Cuddy's.

"I hope House doesn't die, mom."

Cuddy's sad smile leaked out of her lips on its own.

"I know, honey."

Then, she turned back. She did not see or hear anything while she was heading to the main entrance of the hospital. She was blind, deaf, her soul empty and her mind pushing out anything that was not the thought of the man lying in a coma on the fourth floor. The silent years, the past tragedy which had led them to this, all was erased, burnt. She could not think of anything else than the most unbelievable contradiction: of all things she had swallowed, accepted, pushed aside, there was one that would have marked her heart forever: if House had _died_ she would have never forgiven him.

* * *

><p>June 2, 2013<p>

While Wilson sat in his office, the vision of House's hollow eyes floating midair between him and the paperwork for the new Pediatric Oncology ward, Cuddy shook hands with her last patient, and recommended him to follow her instructions and never forget his insulin injection.

She walked out of the clinic, the white coat waving along with her stiletto heels tapping the floor. She flipped her hair and checked her Blackberry to see what was next in the morning schedule, just to find out that she had a couple of hours before the meeting with some people from an insurance company. She realized she didn't even remember the name of the two men. The only thing she recalled from their brief phone call was that the one she had spoken to somehow knew she was about to get married. Of course, she had gotten free congratulations and unneeded nice words.

Her pace slowed down, heart rate spinning up. As soon as she reached the women's bathroom, she busted in, slamming the door closed behind her shoulders, and leaned back to the tiled wall, a hand covering her sweaty forehead. Cuddy closed her eyes and tried to control the breathing, but she only managed to get more anxious as more and more air pushed its way through her throat. What was this? Although she would have never admitted it to herself, that was a panic attack. The Dean was freaking out, so to say. Was she getting cold feet? What was it about the wedding that made her body refuse to accept the mere thought of what was going to happen? She released a hollow laugh, realizing that she was so much of a coward that she could not even be happy about her life taking a turn for the best: it was much simpler than whatever a time-consuming session of therapy would ever let out. She could not accept the innermost certainty that anything could go wrong somehow. She was not a naïve, and her reasoning mind kept telling her that believing everything would be perfect for ever and ever was just the leftovers of her youth. She had made a choice like that very late in life, when what she had left behind was a bit too much to be easily erased by the new plot turn. Cuddy realized why people get married young: they can face everything without freaking out in a restroom. They can face the thought of things going wrong because they still believe they'll cope. Because they still believe that doing your best will prevent that to happen. Because they still believe in everlasting love.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with Wilson, and she loved him, and they would have the best time together. Forever.

_Yeah, right._

–

A wide-eyed House sat still at the conference table, without even listening to the differential going on in a loud mess all around him. The team. And their never ending debates and arguments and rivalrous friendships. The team and their acceptance of him. The team whose members he had fired and rehired multiple times in a schizophrenic fashion during the years. The people he had taught, scolded and treated like the landfill for his own daemons. They had been working like crazy, for all the time he had spent being spitting out his teeth in jail, and when he had come back he had not even been able to whine and mock them about the casualty rate of the patients they had treated without him, because they had been flawless as hell. Those people had taken him back with a smile and not a word about what had happened. Once again. As when he had come out of the post-shooting coma, the bus crash surgery, the fucking psych ward mess. The team was always cool with everything and House refused to admit how grateful he felt for that. Because if he had admitted it, then again he would have had to deal with his human side, which he was trying to keep at arm's length at the moment, otherwise he would have ended up either killing someone or killing himself.

Because if there was something he could _not_ get used to was accepting that his friendship with stupid Wilson was over. He missed him as hell and his life sucked big time because no one could replace the moron. One year later, he still felt hurt by the confession leaking out of Wilson's guilty lips that merciless night, when House had gotten a freedom he did not feel deserving of. But his decision to dash out of the room and the house and the neighborhood had been the consequence of his fear that he could do something reckless again. Like, punching him to death for the sake of releasing his shame and regret and the invincible feeling of inadequateness to Cuddy and the tainted love still prickling at the bottom of his soul. Wilson had won her heart by doing what House could not: showing that he cared, every day of their lives. And House had feared he could kill him for being so perfect. Hence the fight-or-flight response: he had chosen to flee.

"House?"

He did not turn to where the voice came from. Thirteen approached him and bent over.

"House. I'm going to rip the patient's eyes off his face with bare hands while singing America The Beautiful."

He kept his stare fixed into the white board.

"House. You didn't hear a word we said, did you?" Foreman stood there, arms crossed.

"Tell me when you get the results."

Thirteen furrowed her brows and exhaled. Exchanging a significant look with Foreman, she slammed the file onto the glass table and went out, headed to the patient's room. In times like those, House could piss her off more than ever.

"House." Foreman ben over. "Are you okay?"

"Sure I am."

House jumped to his feet and dashed out. Whatever the team was doing, he was sure it was fine. Taub, Chase and Foreman slowly walked out of the conference room. Taub switched the lights off and closed the door.

–

"Go to hell."

At the sound of House's words, Wilson startled. He raised his stare up from the paper he was reviewing and dropped the pen in surprise: his long lost friend stood in the doorway to his office, whose floor he had not walked in much time.

"What..."

"I said. Go to hell, Wilson."

"House, if there's anything I..."

House marched up to his friend's desk and stood there. It was weird. A weird sensation in a weird context. It'd been over a year since he had last walked into that office. Actually, he hadn't crossed Wilson's threshold since before _the thing_. Funny. _Last time I walked this floor I still had all my ribs in place_. He clamped the stream of thoughts invading his mind.

"You are a moron and a pain in the ass, and I will never get over me being such an idiot and leaving Cuddy free to fall into your love trap."

Wilson could not speak back. He was petrified, incapable of collecting any thoughts that could measure up with House's sudden straightforwardness. He could only swallow a lump of air and let him go ahead.

"I'm sorry I didn't even thank you for picking me up from prison."

Now, that was starting to get very weird. And pretty much disconnected, too. Wilson furrowed his brows.

"House...what are you..."

"Shut up."

"'Kay."

"And you two are the stupidly happiest couple of selfless idiots on the face of the..."

"House..."

"...I'd stay out of you guys' life if... You two are better off without me. But."

"House."

"...I am out of enablers. And I don't know whom to watch pornos with anymore. And she's gonna drive you crazy, so you might need some advice."

"House, listen..."

"I know."

"No, you don't."

House's whole-hearted, disconnected stream of words died away as he noticed Wilson's more-than-concerned look.

"What? What is it?"

"I'm marrying her."

House's eyes popped out. He plopped down onto the comfy chair facing his friend and sat back, wordlessly.

"That..." Wilson brought a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment, hoping that would be easier than what seemed to be. But when he opened his eyes, it wasn't. It was hard. And awkward. "That's what I was about to tell you this morning, when you almost punched me in the face."

House escaped eye-contact. He tried to catch his breath again, but air seemed to be repelled by his body. He felt sick in his stomach and swallowed a lump of nothingness before standing up and trying to be a better person for once in his life, sticking with what he had come in here for.

"It's okay."

"Are you... like... sure?"

"I said _it's okay._"

His eyes fixed to the carpeted floor, House felt blood rushing back to his cheeks. He was friends with Wilson again. It would have been even better for the sake of his dignity if the guy had not jumped to his feet to squeeze him in that stupid embrace he did his best to slip out of.

"Let _the hell_ go off me."

"M'kay."

They stood in front of each other for an incredibly long bunch of silent seconds.

"House."

"Wilson."

"It's weird."

"I know."

"I missed you."

"I didn't. I'm just here for the money and the pornos."

With the best smirk Wilson had seen in ages, House walked out of the room, trying to hide the trouble of his soul showing in his exacerbated limp. After all, being friends with that idiot had always helped him overcome every disaster in his life: he desperately wanted to believe it would have helped him pull through this. Even though the idiot himself was the cause of it.

* * *

><p>an: Sooo... Are you guys enjoying? I hope so. In any case I'd appreciate if you let me know what you think of House, Wilson and Cuddy coping with being grown-ups, lol. What's about to come? In real-time, 2017, we're gonna see more of House's awakening and how it affects the people around him, and above all Cuddy, who doesn't get what's happening, at first. Then, we'll go back to the flashback because remember that Wilson and Cuddy are getting married, right? And you still don't know if they are married in 2017, so just don't take anything for granted: I am not a good person. I'm pretty busy right now, but my period is coming, so I guess I'll be inspired in the next days. LOL Blame my behavioral endocrinology class and how I'm enjoying it.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**Naked souls**

* * *

><p>Jun 11, 2017<p>

–

Cuddy burst in and for some reason she froze on her feet, looking around the deserted hallway. Everyone was outside, celebrating: even the kids from Pediatrics and the patient who were in good shape had been allowed to be there.

"Doctor Cuddy?" Brenda walked out of an exam room, holding a pile of plastic boxes, probably containing emergency shots of epinephrine. Her inquisitive look pierced Cuddy, and she instantly knew something was wrong. Cuddy realized she could hardly swallow back the terror taking over.

"We have... an emergency in room 221. I was paged by doctor Wilson."

Brenda's expression distorted in the saddest look Cuddy had ever seen on her.

"It's doctor House."

"Yes."

Cuddy dropped her gown and purse onto the nurses' counter and ran for the nearest elevator. She desperately hit the button with her index finger. Nothing.

_Come on._

_Come the hell on._

Then, the automatic doors let her in. As she was being smoothly lifted up to the fourth floor, her breath was running so fast through the airways that she felt a stinging, pulsating pain in her throat.

Between her pager going off and the run across the campus and through the hospital, a little more than five minutes had elapsed. Dissipated forever. Maybe he was already dead. Maybe Wilson had paged her _after_ it had happened, to save her the pain of watching House's life fade away. She was not even afraid of what she would find in that room. As far as she remembered, House had been dead for four years. Not a word, not a look, not a twitch of a single muscle: he was in a coma, and the only way they were aware that he was alive were the quiet, hopeless beeping noises of the machinery surrounding his still body, amplifying the weak beats of his exhausted heart and the slow currents floating in his brain without any more purposes.

Without even noticing the anger boiling up, Cuddy realized she _hated_ House for dying. That was something she could have never forgiven: that same thought had been lingering on since she had left Rachel in the park, since she had pushed people aside to reach the hospital entrance. Since she had met Brenda's upset gaze in the hallway. Cuddy hated House because she loved him way too much and way too dangerously and sickly and hopelessly to ever accept the idea of his body being eaten away at by the cold ground. She blocked the elevator and let out a desperate cry, which echoed in the silence.

Then, she hit the red round button again with her open palm, kicking the wall in front of her with her knee, and then bending over to that same wall, hands open, her forehead leaned against it as if to try and find some refreshment. Crazy, that's what she was.

_Fucking crazy._

She didn't even see the doors opening to a deserted fourth floor hallway. She just ran blindly until Wilson's embrace prevented her from bouncing back and falling.

"What happened. What happened. _What_..."

"Cuddy, listen..." He tried to block her.

"Get out of my way. _Get-out_!"

She punched him in the chest with her fists clenched, tears chasing one another in their run down her cheeks. Wilson's hold was tight on her shoulders and incredibly strong.

"Wilson, if you don't leave me now I swear to god..."

"Cuddy, please... There's something..."

"I KNOW RIGHT?"

Her voice scratched the silence, painfully.

"What are you..."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so..." She relapsed into Wilson's embrace incapable to restrain a frantic elapse of sobs. "I was late... Rachel called me back... _I was late_... I'm sorry..."

"Cuddy."

"Oh, Wilson. _What happened_... I knew it. I..."

"Cuddy."

"I'm sorry... We need to call it. Let me in..."

She could not stop the sobbing. She felt as if all of what was good in life could never be as good again. Everything was opaque and doomed.

"Cuddy, will you _please_ look at me?"

She raised her stare up to Wilson. And he had this incredibly upset smile which just didn't fit.

"What's going on?" She could hardly make it to a normal pitch.

Suddenly, she could see Wilson's eyes reflecting the sunlight from the windows behind her.

The reflections sent a glare and trembled, then melted in Wilson's coupled tears streaming down his face.

"He's awake."

* * *

><p>Jun 3, 2013<p>

–

7AM

House and Wilson were friends again.

This was the first thought which had made its way through Wilson's sleepy mind when the first rays of an early summer sun had caressed the immaculate walls of his bedroom. Cuddy was still asleep beside him, her dark curls spread onto the pillow as the ornaments of an expensive fabric. She was perfect, still like a china doll in her doll bed. Wilson had to fight back the fear this could be unreal for some reason he wasn't aware of, before sitting up, pensively rubbing his forehead.

–

12AM

"House."

"Hm?"

"Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"No, I mean... I'm happy that you... I'm sorry that..."

"Stop caring."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. Being worried for me is not gonna get you sex from Cuddy. And it makes you look like an idiot."

"House..."

"What." He raised his stare up to the ceiling. The cafeteria was crowded and the chatter deafening. He wished Wilson's concerned tone would blend in the million voices filling the air. But it did not.

"House. I want to make sure you are okay. With what's happening."

"I came back."

"I know. And. I'm happy that you did. I missed you."

"You already told me that."

"...But I want to make sure we're... fine. With everything."

"You want my approval? I'm not Cuddy's big bro. I won't give you her hand."

Wilson raised a slightly sad smile. He was truly concerned about House's feelings because he couldn't help it: that's what he was. House's friend, as always.

"I... I just... You came back less than twenty-four hours ago and told me we were okay, after more than one year spent ignoring me and Cuddy and each and every attempt at talking to you... I was left wondering."

"About what?"

"About _why_."

"I told you. I missed my movie buddy. Lonely pornos are no fun."

"Cut the crap, House." Now, Wilson's voice sounded more than just concerned. He was starting to get angry at House for being so guarded and at himself for feeling the need to force his way into House's mind. House dropped the fork into his caesar salad and sat back, crossing his arms.

"Do you want me to tell you why I came back?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

"Fine."

They sat in silence for a moment. Then House released a long breath. And pierced his best friend with his incredibly sad blue gaze.

"I came back because I screwed up. I ruined my life, and an insanely huge portion of Cuddy's. And I went to prison and I spat my teeth in my own blood and Wilson... I don't deserve any kind of forgiveness."

"House..."

"Shut up. I don't. But you came and picked me up. And you weren't... angry. Not anymore. I was, though."

Wilson slowly shook his head, then he lowered his stare, bringing a hand to his forehead. House went on.

"I've been a stupid son of a bitch, Wilson. A crazy, unforgivable, sick bastard. I hurt Cuddy and you. I almost..." His voice failed and trembled for a second. "I almost killed everyone in that room. How could anyone..."

"House..." Wilson's eyes got misty, he could not continue.

"How could you come back for me last year?"

Again, they went silent.

"You are my friend. That's why. I... hated you. For what you did to _your_self. But then..." Wilson shook his head. "I could not hate you forever."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"You two would be better off without me."

"That's not true."

"It is. But I had to come back. Because..." House's voice went down to a whisper. "...I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"I know. I'll never... forgive myself for what I did. Like... _never_."

"House, please..."

"No, listen. I would give my Sota turntable to be the one with Cuddy."

They laughed. Incredibly, they laughed. From the bottom of their hearts, they laughed. They laughed though knowing that those words were House's way of saying he still loved her and he could not allow himself any kind of acceptance of what he had done to her. But they laughed. Because House's turntable was a crazy comparison with the woman of his life, but insanely fitting.

"Thank you."

House raised his stare in surprise.

"For what?"

"For telling me."

"You're welcome. You are a good man, Wilson. You're better than me. She's obviously happy with you."

"So that's your way of giving me her hand."

"More or less." House stood up and grabbed the cane, ready to go back to work. "Wilson."

"What."

"Cuddy _chose_ me. And she chose _you_. I didn't... I _don't_ have any rights over her, no one does."

"I know..." Wilson giggled. "I was just thinking if you could be my best man or something."

_Oh, fuck._

House's eyes popped their life out as he was turning back to face Wilson.

"You can't be serious."

Wilson stood up and grabbed a pile of patient files, blushing.

"I'm sorry. Forget it. Look, House... it just slipped out of my..."

_Oh, Wilson. Shut the hell up. _

"It's fine."

Wilson almost dropped the files.

"W-what?"

"It's fine. I owe you that, okay?" House smirked. "I'll just pretend I care."

"You son of a bitch."

"You stupid wimp."

They walked back to the hospital together. House tried to hide the excruciating stings flowing through his right thigh. Now, that was a real mess.

_Fuck._


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Belief (makes things real)**

* * *

><p>Jun. 11, 2017<p>

"House?"

Cuddy slowly walked in. The light of day soaked the room in all its might, as if to celebrate House's return to life. She bent over and held out her open palm, uncertainly, as if she was worried about breaking the charm. House lay asleep, eyelids preserving the crystalline transparency of his blue irises, hidden for all those years in their guarded, invisible secrecy. Every now and then, after the deep coma phase had slowly regressed, House would open his eyes to a world that didn't talk to him anymore: he lay there and stared, a hollow expression lingering on his face, without a sign that he was still hanging on in there. He did not respond to any kind of stimulus, either pain, sounds, voices. Which, much to his friends' heartbreak, had assessed his state as a one-way ticked to a slow, oblivious death sentence. House was long gone.

And now, nothing seemed to be different: Cuddy placed her hand on his forehead and raised her stare up to Wilson, who was standing opposite to her, at the other side of House's bed. She could not restrain the inquisitiveness in her own, upset stare fixed into Wilson's.

"What happened?"

He started pacing the room, hands on his hips.

"He... had his eyes open. As always. I mean..." Wilson's voice faded away, as if he knew that somehow talking about it would have made it all go away. House was in a vigil coma, and that meant he was non-responsive. To anything. But then, fifteen minutes earlier...

"He looked at me."

"Wilson..."

"I swear to god he looked at me."

She shook her head, slowly, the saddest look in her watery irises.

"That's... unlikely."

They stood there, in silence, for some time. The wall clock was quietly ticking its way through that sunny, early summer morning.

Then, a peak. And another one. The complicated waves translating House's cortical activity got more complex, one by one. A spike. A quiet beep from the heart monitor gently accompanied that slow, private sunrise. Blood pressure went up, heart rate assessed on a new, faster but steady rhythm. Cuddy startled.

"House."

Nothing.

Wilson approached Cuddy and bent over to House.

"_House_."

Beeps from the machinery got closer, their range somehow reassuring that whoever was in there was still _feeling_.

Cuddy brought a hand to her mouth, her incredulous eyes still incapable to compute what was going on.

_He's coming back._

"House... We're here. _House_."

Another spike on the EEG monitor, and his stare pierced her right through.  
>"House. Blink if you can hear me." Wilson bent over with a small flashlight, testing his friend's pupillary reflex. House screwed his eyes, and his expression changed to some sort of discomfort.<p>

"Blink if you can hear me. Come on."

House blinked. Cuddy turned back for a second, swallowing the incontrollable sobs starting to fill her airways. Then, she got back to him, bending over with the most reassuring smile she could produce in that incredible, unexpected situation. House's eyes filled with tears, as he began coughing and turning his head, convulsively trying to remove the tracheal tube holder.

"Don't fight it." She placed a hand on his forehead and slowly, gently rubbed his tense skin, whispering to his ear. "House, don't fight it. Breathe." She mimicked the act of breathing in and out. "Come on. _Breathe_."

He moaned softly, and the tears finally rolled down his cheeks. His heart rate spiked, while he was breathing in and out at close range. The endotracheal intubation was Cuddy and Wilson's remedy to the relaxed muscle tone of his face, which risked to affect his breathing. They had him intubated during the first hours of his coma, and from that moment on. The skin on his cheeks was cracked and dry where the bands held the mask: the small plastic tube coming out of his wordless lips helped air in and out. Every day.

House made a couple more unconvinced attempts at removing his tube, but then, with a heartbroken look in his blue, watery globes, he gave up. He reclined his head in utter despair, sobbing heavily. Cuddy glanced up at Wilson, while he adjusted House's tube holder.

"We're here. _Don't be scared_."

House closed his eyes and slipped into the first, real, relieving sleep in years. The moment she could see his eyelids slide closed, Cuddy stood back up.

"I want a full evaluation and assessment of the patient's state. Call the team in, I expect them to be here in no time. And don't..." She hesitated, but then she changed her mind. "...leave it alone. Just tell everyone that House woke up. At least they'll have something to talk about while we take care of him."

She dashed out. No desperate cries, no frantic stream of regretful words. Just her close range steps hitting the floor and the lingering halo of her perfume tracing her path back outside. This time, she was not afraid: not anymore. Not even the thought of a forever disabled House could keep the deeper part of her soul from rejoicing at the miracle of that awakening. Anything was better than seeing his body emptied for all those years from the essence lying inside. Anything was better than waking up every morning, thinking that she could use a sufficient amount of morphine to put an end to that painful sight, risking her career for the sake of not leaving House like that forever. Anything that the future held for him was better than what the past four years had left of him.

* * *

><p>June 5, 2013<p>

–

"Wilson! Wilson! _Wil-son_!" Rachel jumped off the couch, spilling her milk everywhere on the carpet.

"Rachel, for the sake of..." Cuddy walked in from the kitchen. She saw Wilson standing in the doorframe, an amused look on his face.

"Is this any funny?"

"Yes."

"Yes, mom! WILSON!"

Rachel bounced her way to her favorite person on earth and jumped into his arms. Wilson squeezed her, dropping his leathered bag on the floor, and ruffling her hair.

"Hi, girl."

He put her back down and walked to Cuddy with the largest smile.

"Hi."

"Hi."  
>They kissed. A quick, sweet familiar feeling rushed to Cuddy's stomach, tickling her soul. She was safe. No one could ever hurt them while Wilson was there. She felt warm in Wilson's hold. Rachel came closer and pushed her way between them, giggling.<p>

"Mom?"

"Yes, honey?"

"I like it here."

They both burst out laughing, and untied from the embrace.

"Rachel, sweetie, go clean that mess you made. Now."

The little girl headed to the kitchen, leaving Cuddy and Wilson alone.

"You look... happy." She flashed him an inquisitive look, while leading the way to their bedroom. Wilson plopped down on the bed, crossing arms behind the back of his head, and closed his eyes, releasing air slowly.

"I am." He whispered.

Cuddy flashed a glance at the corridor, just to see Rachel drag a rag doll to her bedroom.

"Rach."

"Yes mom?" The child turned back to her, smiling.

"Did you clean up?"

"Yup. Sorry."

"Good night, sweetie."

"'Night mom."

Cuddy closed the door, adjusting her cottoned nightgown on her waist. She sat beside Wilson and laid herself down on the pillows. Wilson turned aside and their gazes met.

"I talked to House today."

She did not reply.

"I... I think we're fine."

Cuddy's expression turned more than serious, and Wilson could even catch a worried glare from her emerald eyes, quickly piercing the air.

"What happened."

"I don't know. It's not... something I would have predicted."

She exhaled. Wilson went on.

"He came to my office yesterday. And we had lunch today. And..."

"And what."

"And we... I miss him."

She sat up.

"What are you talking about."

"I miss him. Like... a lot."

Cuddy escaped eye-contact. She did not want House to be back in her life. _Like... a lot_.

"So you two are back to the old times."

"Sort of."

"Why."

"I told you. I missed him and apparently that was reciprocal. He came and told me..."

"He told you he missed you?"

"Yes."  
>"Why should you believe him?"<p>

"Because he's my friend."

"Oh, is he?" Cuddy's tone was getting angrier, and she was looking rather distressed. She stood up and began pacing the room, arms crossed on her chest. "What was the last time he did something _for_ you?"

"What...?"

"Come on, don't act like you don't know."

"Look, I really don't want to go there."

"No, _James_." She called him by name. It rarely happened, except from when she was feeling stressed, or very mad at him. "You _need_ to go there. You _owe_ me that."

Wilson slowly sat up, incapable to control the surprise leaking from his stare, fixed into that of his friend, and boss, and fiancé.

"Are you jealous?"

"That's not... my point."

"No, actually I think it is. Are you jealous, Cuddy?"

"No."

"Because if you are, you're just like him. A childish, self-centered..."

"...I don't care! I don't _fucking_ care, Wilson. I don't give a damn about House, not anymore."

"This is not true, you know that. We both do. And it does not explain your stupid act of denial."

"What...?"

"You're yelling at me for making up with my only... my _best_ friend. I can extrapolate from that."

"I don't care what you do, I don't give a..."

"You already said that."

"I..." Her voice cracked. And broke. She collapsed into the armchair and tilted her head back. Wilson brought both hands to his face, and tried to find relief in that dark, self created shelter. It did not last. With an utterly broken look in his warm, gentle irises, he whispered more to himself than to her.

"I... I truly missed him, Cuddy. When that... _thing_... happened..."

"Don't..."

"No, Cuddy. I have to. I hated you for what you did to him, for changing your mind. You... left him and I hated you."

She covered her mouth with a hand, her eyes filling with tears. Wilson went on.

"And then I hated him because he is... what he is."

"I guess we both agree on that..." Cuddy's hollow laugh echoed in the silence between them that shortly followed.

"I know you can't forgive him. I know he ruined your life. I still think he deserves another chance because... that's just who I am. He was... you know him, how screwed up he..."

"That's _not_..."

"No, listen. This is the first conversation we've had since what happened, and it's been two years. You _are_ my... _wife_."

She blushed and a lone tear rolled down her cheek.

"Cuddy, we have to go there. We need to."

"I know."

"I'm sorry for what he did to you, but he's screwed up as... We should have anticipated him. I told him I did not want to clean up the mess, and I stepped aside until I could, but then it was too late."

"It's not your fault!"

"I know. But that's who he is and I shouldn't have left him go crazy. I enabled him. And you..."

Cuddy raised her teary stare up to him.

"You told him you did not want him to change. And you were wrong. You _can't_ be wrong with House. You... were his last chance."

She leaned her head against her open palm. Wilson stood up and tiredly walked to the windowsill. Staring outside through the freshly cleaned glass, he went on.

"I'm not saying _you_ should forgive him. I'm just... being selfish for the first time here. I couldn't keep doing this for you. Because..." He seemed like he was about to take back what he was going to say, but then he didn't. "Part of this was our fault. Mine, for sure. Yours... until he nearly killed you. Then, it was all him being a crazy bastard. But..."

"I thought I could do that."

"I know."

"I'm not mad. Not anymore, I guess." Cuddy's eyes filled with black and white images of the past years. House's look while giving her back the hairbrush, the ceiling of her living room crumbling down to pieces all around them, everyone else in the room frozen on their feet, incapable to collect themselves. The sirens, and the police, the paperwork. Her signature. House almost beaten up to death, his circled eyes meeting hers. The bruises, and his shame, the utter feeling of pity she had felt. His empty office. His name, his reputation in the medical community, his genius. All dirtied, all wasted. She had gone to unthinkable lengths to take his license back for him when he would come out of jail. No one knew that she had risked her career to have House back to PPTH: she had found it easier to let everyone think that for House rules did not just work. They broke. She could not allow anyone to know that she had helped him come back clean as a respectable doctor, if not a respectable man. Not even House himself. That would just shout out to the world how weak she was, how invincibly bound to him. She had convinced herself that she was doing that just because House was her hospital's asset. That was the only reason that could be accepted.

"He loved you." Wilson whispered.

"I guess."

"I think he still does."

"I... know. Kind of."

"He said he'll come to the wedding. I asked him to."

"It's fine."

Wilson turned to her, fixing his stare into hers.

"Is it? I'm not changing my mind here. I'm not asking him _not_ to come. I just need you to be honest with me."

Cuddy raised a tired smile.

"It's okay, I guess. I don't know. Are you happy?"

"I am."

"It'll have to be enough for me, then."

Later that night, Cuddy's secret fears materialized in a dream where she allowed herself to have a make-up lunch with House in the cafeteria, similar to that he'd had with Wilson; and then, all of a sudden, she was in his bed again, making love to him. Because that's what it was: she just couldn't stay around him without being sucked into his incredibly strong, delightful orbit. Guilt beating along with her upset heart released through her bloodstream burning globes of anger at herself for being so irremediably screwed up.

Jolting awake, soaked in her sweat, Cuddy nestled herself beside Wilson, whose love was as strong, yet untainted.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The saving truth

* * *

><p><em>Va'ani t'filati l'kha Adonai et ratzon.<br>__Elohim b'rov hasdekha aneini b'emet yish'ekha._

To You, Eternal One, goes my prayer: may this be a time of your favor.  
>In Your great love, O God, answer me with Your saving truth.<p>

– Jewish prayer upon entering a sacred place.

* * *

><p>Jun. 11, 2013<p>

8AM

–

_Cuddy's house_

Arlene leaned back against the doorframe, watching her daughter sleep peacefully on her wedding day. It was almost time to wake her up, help her wear the beautiful white dress she had chosen weeks earlier. Cuddy had refused everyone's help: she had gone missing with Rachel for an entire afternoon and had come back announcing she had chosen her wedding dress, and that it was her and Rachel's secret. Mother and daughter had exchanged a smirk and Arlene had turned to Julia, hoping to get help. But Neither of them had been able to convince Cuddy to unveil the secret. The night before, though, Cuddy's sister and mother had been allowed to see the mysterious dress resting in the wardrobe since the day Cuddy had brought it home. And they had been left stunned. It was a strapless, form-fitting ivory sheath gown, with a tulle overlay decorated in beads and flowered embroidery. A sheer jacket matching the tulle skirt overlay covered the shoulders, leaving the skin visible through the embroidered lace. An organza beaded veil with scalloped edges completed the match: it was underneath that veil that the bride would be led to the Chuppah, the bridal canopy, by her mother. Arlene exhaled, running her fingers through Cuddy's soft, dark curls. She could not say she wasn't happy that her daughter had finally settled down: it was the best choice for her and for Rachel, who undoubtedly needed _two _parents to call her own. And Wilson loved them both so deeply he could not hide the warmth emanating from his smiles and looks at his future wife and her little girl. Arlene approved of Wilson. She really did. Not that Cuddy needed anyone's approval for anything: she was not that kind of person. Cuddy would _notify_ she had made a decision, and that was the most one could get from her: but in the end Arlene knew that her independent daughter secretly sought for her approval. What had made Arlene's heart crumble had been seeing what was remaining of Cuddy and House after all they had put each other through. She had been left upset and incredulous at House's craziness years earlier, but deep inside she still believed that the two were made for each other. And that was what projected a shadow of sadness on her features while she watched the bride sleep quietly: although Cuddy had chosen her best friend to be her husband, and despite the deep affection and the safety they were undoubtedly blessing each other with, Arlene could not help but feel that her daughter had settled for less.

–

_House's apartment_

"Wilson."

"Mh."

"_Wilson_."

House raised his eye and tossed the blue cottoned blanket away from his friend, who lay half-naked in his bed, curled up in a ball, apparently comatose.

"I didn't choose the couch to let _you_ comfortably snooze your way through the morning." House limped to the window and cracked it open, pulling the curtains so the sunlight could slip in. He turned back to Wilson, one hand on his hip, the other wrapped around the grip of his cane. "My back hurts. My leg hurts. My neck hurts. I wake up, you wake up." He swallowed a handful of pills.

Wilson blinked awake, screwing his eyes in the light. Yawning heavily, he sat up and stretched his arms, realizing what day it was and why he was at House's place. Clearing his throat, he got on his feet.

"Thanks for the bed."

"You're welcome. I was gone with Karamel the whole night anyway."

"House..."

"Shut up. She said she's getting used to your bachelor parties."

"This is gonna be the last one, I guess."

"_Guessing_ is the best way to make a commitment."

"House..." Wilson raised his hands, smirking. "That's enough. I'm gonna go shower."

He dashed out. House sat on the edge of his bed, emptied from every thought, or concern. He felt as if every inch of his body was being drained by some secret, dark power. That was going to be his own judgment day: the day Wilson would marry Cuddy. Listening to the silence surrounding the house in a soothing embrace, he realized that no noises came from the bathroom yet: Wilson was probably drowning his utter terror in a cup of cereals, waiting to be too late to think of anything else. Best man and bridegroom had not only shared a roof for the night: they were most likely sharing the same fear of what was about to happen. The only difference was that the voice now echoing from the kitchen carried a note of the utmost hopefulness.

"Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Me'lech ha-olam poke'ach ivrim."

_What the hell is he doing._

House realized even more painfully the utter difference that having something to believe in would have made if he were naïve enough. Cuddy and Wilson were of jewish origins, and they had chosen a traditional wedding ceremony to honor their parents and families. The sun rising had started the rite, and his friend was holding on to the faith of his ancestors to overcome the force that would have pushed him away from it. House whispered to himself that same prayer he had heard from Wilson's shy voice seconds earlier, while watching an awakening Princeton from his empty bedroom.

_Blessed are you Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who opens the eyes of the blind._

But he felt as if those words were a curse to him, not a blessing. He swallowed five more Vicodin, wishing he wouldn't have taken that stupid Hebrew class in college. Plus, Wilson praying was just ridiculous.

_Like, a lot_.

–

11AM

_Princeton Synagogue_

"This is overly stupid."

"Shut up, House."

"But it's fun."

"No, it _isn't_! You're making me nervous."

"I'm your best man, or something. You asked me. This is the only me you get."

"I guess I know..." Wilson rubbed his forehead, turning just a whiter shade of pale.

"What the hell are we doing here? It's boring."

"Waiting."

"For what?"

"The...uhm..." Wilson turned back, nervously, flashing a glance to the hallway. "The Rabbi. We have to cover up Cuddy with her veil before we get into the real thing."

"That's cool. Is she gonna be gagged as well?"

"Of course not."

They went silent for a moment. House felt another sting, the thousandth of a seemingly endless series of silenced gunshots to his right thigh. He was starting to feel uncomfortable with all the Vicodin he had already taken since he had woken up about four hours earlier. The whole situation was just unreal, not to mention it was also slightly unbelievable. Not only House realized in all honesty that the whole religion madness going on was out of character for his two friends, but he also could not help feeling the awkwardness of being the chosen best man: Wilson couldn't have chosen anyone else than him, but in fact signing a marriage contract as a witness, for the law of a God he did not believe in, was something whose stupidity hit the professed atheist House right through the chest. It was worse than lying: it was like renouncing his lifelong faith in nothing with a conscious, hypocrite act, in front of people who knew perfectly well how much of a cynic he was, but were somehow bound by a condescending agreement to accept that lie. In the end, though, that was also a marriage for the Law of New Jersey, so that, whereas this saved the whole meaninglessness of his position, House had to recognize he wasn't feeling good about his name being on the marriage contract of his loyal friend with the only love of his own, doomed life.

House's leg hurt and the opioids were flowing inexorably through his veins. He would use a whiskey, also.

Standing beside him in the empty hallway of the Synagogue, Wilson turned to him and his eyes shone a quick, trembling glare, the corners of his lips turning upwards.

"House."

"What."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

The door cracked open, and the Rabbi walked in.

–

11.30AM

"Our sister, may you come to be thousands of myriads, and may your offspring inherit the gate of its foes." Wilson whispered. House flashed a glance at his friends, his eyes glaring.

Then, he took Cuddy's beautiful organza beaded veil from Arlene's hands and gave it to Wilson, who gently covered the bride's face. Cuddy was seated on a wooden carved chair, dressed in her ivory wedding gown, her dark, curly locks falling loose on her shoulders. She stood up and entwined hands with Wilson, raising a smile while the Rabbi blessed the future husband and wife, surrounded by guests singing. Then Wilson and the two families walked out, the Rabbi leading the way.

Left alone in the empty, silent room, the veiled bride stood there motionless, incapable of collecting any thoughts: time was running out. Time for revisions, time to say she was scared the life out, time to tell Wilson she feared that safety wasn't enough. Cuddy hated the last-minute jitters: she was used to them like House to his painkillers. She could count the minutes spent wondering if Endocrinology had been the best choice, moments before walking up the stage on the day of her graduation from med school. She still remembered the utter feeling of inadequateness she had felt while holding her adopted baby daughter in her uncertain, yet loving arms. She could painfully relive the terror seizing her the second she had closed the door to House's apartment behind her shoulders, right after swearing to him that they were doing the right thing, trying to make it work. And that same door slamming closed after she had left him, a year later, had kept secret the instant regret she had been stricken by. She was the queen of visions and revisions. The world champion of regret over spilled chances. Last, but nowhere near to least, came the consciousness of having ruined House's life in that operation room, while saving it: that middle ground surgery she had proposed was her answer to the guts she believed she did not have. The guts to amputate his leg. Cuddy leaned to the windowsill, watching Princeton through her veil, and wished she could vanish inside it, leaving an empty cluster of beads and tulle to finally rest on the floor.

"Stop it."

Startling at the sound of a voice coming from the doorway, Cuddy turned back. House stood there, chocking the grip of his cane.

"What are you doing here?"

"Checking on the Dean. She's been known to be a wimp."

Cuddy hardly restrained a giggly laughter.

"Thanks."

"It's okay. I know who you are."

"House..."

"Yeah."

They went silent. Awkwardness slowly made room for something else, something they had not been feeling for years. House realized he hadn't actually spoken to her since their last exchange in the hospital hall, when he thought he was at peace with what had happened between them. When he had told her that it wasn't her fault. The corners of his eyes smiled for him.

"You're beautiful."

She stared at him, torn between surprise and disbelief at House's unexpected remark.

"I'm... crapping my pants. But thanks."

"My bike is parked outside. I've got two helmets."

Cuddy giggled.

"Shut up, for god's sake."

"Cuddy."

"What."

"Don't be scared."

"I'm doing my best."

"It doesn't show."

"Will you shut the hell..."

"_I love you._"

Cuddy swallowed a lump of air, and somehow she couldn't feel the floor underneath her feet. She was falling and it was a long way down.

"House..."

"..."

They got closer. Cuddy felt tears rolling down her cheeks and she couldn't restrain them. She was so screwed. And so weak. And so _fucking_ scared.

"Don't..." House escaped eye-contact with her. "You can't change your mind."

"Why."

"Because... He's okay. He's... a good man."

"I know."

"He's better than me."

"I... know."

"Cuddy... Look, I'm..."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

"This doesn't change anything. Be happy with stupid Wilson, he'd never ram his car into your living room."

_He'd never go to prison because of you._

Cuddy's gaze met House's. For the first time in two years.

"What if this is wrong."

"It's not. There's no reason why. He loves you."

"You love me too."

"I always have."

"I know."

"But I'm wrong. I'm _wrong_, Cuddy. I am... a bad person."

"That's not true."

"It is. And this conversation is not about me anyway. Don't deflect."

"You've been a good teacher all these years."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"House..."

"What."

She shook her head, but didn't talk. Instead, she got closer. And closer. Through her veil, she could catch a glimpse of passion, attraction, or lust... something that made his blue eyes brighter for the fraction of a second. She made as if to lift the delicate fabric. House grabbed her wrists, blocking her midair.

"No."

His gentle smile faded away, he turned back and walked out, slamming the door closed.

* * *

><p>an: if you want to have a look at Cuddy's dress...

.com/Merchant2/graphics/00000001/3013_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Be there

–

_Cherry's Bar_

"Dude, you're dressed up like a fucking _fop_."

"Shut up. Where's my whiskey?"

"It's the third one. You sure you ain't gonna pass out?"

"It's the last one."

"That's not you."

"I'm afraid it is. Wilson's getting married. Gotta be there for that."

"Shit."

"Damn true."

The barman slammed a square-bottomed glass on the counter, amber drops of liquor spilling on the scratched wooden surface. House fixed his stare into the dancing liquid inside the glass, mesmerized for a second. Then, he just swallowed the burning scotch, followed by a couple of white pills. An empty plastic bottle landed in the nearest trash can. And that was his last one for the day. _Shit_, as the barman had wisely said. House tiredly got on his feet, hardly making it to the cane, leaned against the counter six feet from him. He stood back upright, choking his hopelessness into a hollow smile he tried to produce with the shameful purpose to keep it full on until the end of that act. Somewhere inside, he knew no one would buy it.

"Wipe that off. You look like a moron."

"Yeah."

The barman dropped a cluster of empty pints into the wash basin and disappeared behind the curtain that kept the kitchen separated from the bar. House went back to his own shadowy look and limped out, carrying his helmet.

–

He walked in through the main entrance, sunglasses covering his eyes, helmet hooked on his left arm. The light penetrating the shaded synagogue hit him from behind, darkening his limping yet fierce figure to the eyes of those already inside. Everybody turned back to watch him as he walked up to the bridal canopy. Late as hell.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Through the glass

* * *

><p>Princeton, Synagogue.<p>

–

Cuddy could not catch her breath. She tried to inhale slowly, but all she got from that was a suffocated sigh, the sound of air blocked out. It was a weird sense of floating in nothingness that was keeping her on her feet. It was as if all the noises had gone silent, the motion had frozen, the colors had just vanished away – leaving a bleached, washed background shade to all things alive. Her misty, burning eyes wandered aimlessly for a second before focusing on House's face. She slowly brought a hand to her mouth and swallowed a lump of air, stricken by a sense of realization that pushed the present away, bringing her back to the most recent past. Just hours earlier.  
><em>–<br>__She walked up to the canopy. Clenching her mother's arm, holding her daughter's hand, Cuddy could see the bridal canopy approaching. All around, a boys' choir was singing Psalms in Hebrew, and the atmosphere was like enchanted, as all the other people in the hall were motionless and silent. Halfway through the aisle, they quit walking: Arlene took Rachel's hand and led the way to the seats, leaving Cuddy standing alone in front of her own decisions. Everyone was smiling at her, waiting for her to take the traditional first step towards her new life. Again, without even noticing, she found herself moving onwards, a step ahead of her rational mind. As the singing went on, Wilson came to take her by the hand, leading their way to the canopy. His warm, reassuring hold on her frozen fingers was all she could feel._

_And then she saw House. Pale as no other shade of white she had ever seen, he was standing right beside Wilson's post. _

"_Hi." She whispered._

Hello, Sunshine.

_His lips remained motionless, his expression did not betray the slightest sign of any feeling, even though she felt his gaze piercing her right through. Her unconvincing attempt at a smile failed instantly, as House's stare floated away from her, aimlessly, ending its hopeless trajectory somewhere up above their heads. That was when she believed to catch a feeble spark in his blue irises, right before going back to her husband-to-be, standing at her left side. Wilson flashed a glance at her._

"_Are you okay?"_

"_Sure I am."_

"_You look beautiful."_

_His lips shaped a smile of the utmost sincerity. _

–

Wilson was now completely soaked and shivering. He raised his stare up to the evening sky, protecting his eyes from the heavy rain with his open palm. It was all covered in grayish clouds, which blocked out the sunset. It had started like a summer storm, something fierce and quick, gone incredibly wrong: it had been raining for hours, slowly and heavily, as if it were impossible for it to ever end. The foggy layer covering up the green hospital yard belonged to another season of the year, and made the colors of summer look less saturated and more confused. Wilson lay himself down on the wet grass, unaware of the cold and the rain and the dirt on his immaculate shirt, the upper section unbuttoned and tieless; he closed his eyes, and he instantly saw the images from the day haunting his sight and thoughts.

"_Where on earth have you been?" He whispered._

"_I'm here now."  
><em>

_Piercing his friend's eyes with a blue glare, House adjusted his suit. Wilson couldn't help but notice how wrong that outfit looked on House's thin, tall figure. Yet, he had to recognize that House's attitude and gestures were showing his commitment to the role he had certainly not asked to play, nor accepted with ease. Wilson had chosen House as his best man for the simple reason that hardly lovable, yet irreplaceable misfit was the only real friend he had: friend in the broader sense of someone who is more than your companion for the good times, and for some unserendipitous reason is not blood-tied with you so you can't call him brother, but is always around even just to be his unbearable self, whom you endlessly and hopelessly love; for whom you wish the best and from whom you expect nothing less than that, even when you know he's bound to disappoint you. But then, just to set life right again, here he comes to surprise you.  
>This was what was going on in Wilson's head when he had asked House to be his best man: he was even hoping to reset his friend's relationship with his long lost – and now apparently given up – love: maybe Cuddy would have taken House's signature on her marriage contract as the definitive sign that things had changed, that he was over her, if he was. Wilson was not sure of that, but could not possibly deny that House had done his best to step aside and never intrude her life again: he had crossed the line two years earlier and had seemingly gotten his lesson from that, if House could ever learn: perhaps, the times were really a-changing. <em>

_Yet, House's dark suit and the pearl-gray tie looked like an odd complement to his body: something that just did not belong. It maybe was the ghostly pallor on his face, or the slight tremor of his grip on the cane. Or even the opacity blocking out the usual brightness of his looks and glances. House was clearly behaving, somehow he was in a struggle to be one of them: festive occasions did not usually become him, as he always ended up leaned against a wall in the loneliest corner of the room: this time, though, he was right under the stage lights, in the centre of the scene, to redeem himself with a demonstration of selflessness toward the two people who mattered the most to him. Wilson could easily read all that in the glances House periodically flashed at him, as if to make sure he did not get cold feet and to keep him glued to his post, in the event of that. Both of them wanted as badly those vows to mean something: as much as Wilson was committed to his new life with Cuddy, House looked committed to making that happen._

"_House."_

"_What."_

"_Thank you."_

_House exhaled._

"_You're welcome."_

_Then, the boys quit singing. _

_The rabbi entwined his hands and moved a step toward the bride and groom._

"_In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters._

_And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness."_

_The synagogue was silent, it was like a crystallized frame, the picture of a moment in time. House stood there between the bride and groom. Beside him, Arlene and Wilson's older brother. The rabbi went on._

"_Then God said, "Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground."_

_Wilson's brother poured wine in a cup. Arlene lifted Cuddy's veil._

"_So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them."_

_The rabbi took a pen from the linen covered small table standing in the centre of the circle and signed the marriage contract parchment. He handed the pen over to House. They all could see the shaking in his fingers. _

"_God blessed them and said to them, "Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky and over every living creature that moves on the ground.""_

_The red shadows of the dancing wine projected glares on the immaculate linen towel. The rabbi was still chanting._

"_The Lord God said, "It is not good for the man to be alone." But for Adam no suitable helper was found. So the Lord God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep and made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man."_

_The rabbi took Cuddy's hand and gently placed it into Wilson's open palm. He entwined their fingers._

"_The man said, "This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called 'woman,' _

_for she was taken out of man." That is why a man leaves his father and mother and is united to his wife, and they become one flesh."_

_He placed his hand over theirs and fixed his stare into the eyes of the witnesses to the rite._

"_I therefore summon the witnesses to the union between this man and this woman, in the presence of God and in front of this Community. Please, come closer."_

_House moved a step towards and felt as if he had been petrified for centuries: he still had his fingers clenched on the pen the rabbi had given him. Wilson lifted the parchment, which unwound inexorably till its lower edge touched the floor. He started reading out the traditional marriage contract in Hebrew, his voice resounding steady but filled with emotion. House made sure he did not cross stares with anyone. He felt as if he were in a terrifying hallucination: chilling, he felt his lower extremities getting colder and colder at every line of that endless reading. Instead, his hands and cheeks were boiling, his head was aching in short-range stings. The leg was completely out of control. In an attempt at recollecting himself, he fastened his grip on the cane. The dark purple, velvet curtain forming the bridal canopy made everything darker; the smoke emanating from the torch Wilson's brother was holding high on their heads made his nostrils burn and his sight fuzzy. House felt grateful for the fortunate gift of not seeing a thing. Wilson placed the paper back onto the table, ready for the witnesses to sign._

_The rabbi took the cup and gave his blessing. Lifting her dress, Cuddy encircled the entire canopy three times, walking slowly. Then, she stood beside Wilson and they both drank from the cup of wine the rabbi had just consecrated. House died a little more on the inside: he tried to restrain a twinge of pain in his leg, as an inexorable flood of sadness invaded his mind and soul, like the wine just poured in the cup. He could not catch his breath._

_Wilson cleared his throat and took Cuddy's hand._

"_Harei at m'kudeshet li b'taba'at zo kedat Moshe v'Yisrael. Behold, you are consecrated to me with this ring according to the laws of Moses and Israel."_

_The shine of a small diamond emanated a beam of light which cut the darkness of the room. Cuddy raised her stare up to Wilson's._

"_Harei, ani muchana v'mezumenet l'kabel et ha'taba'at zo k'dat Moshe v'Yisrael – Behold, I am prepared and declared to receive this sign according to the law of..."_

_There was a thud, and they could see the cane had rolled a few feet away._

_He wasn't breathing._

_There was no pulse._

* * *

><p>The ambulance had reached PPTH in a few minutes. Hours later, Wilson's fingers were still clenched on the small diamond ring, which he had held on to all the way to the hospital and after: but now all he could feel was the cold and the rain hitting hard on him on the night of his wedding.<p>

Back inside the hospital, Cuddy's open palm caressed the transparent glass of the ICU window.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_The Right Place  
><em>

* * *

><p>PPTH, June 11, 2017<p>

–

"What _the_..."

"Don't talk. Don't say a damn word." Cuddy hissed.

Foreman raised his hands, puzzled.

"I'm not even..."

"I said shut _up_."

She brought both hands to her forehead and turned back. Just a second later, she turned to him again, arms crossed on her chest.

_Breathe. Tell him._

"Okay. I'm gonna tell you what just happened, and Wilson, here, is not gonna disagree with me, because he saw it. He saw it _too_."

"Wow." Foreman's surprised look was still lingering on his face. Behind him, a silent Wilson was surfing through a patient file. Cuddy plopped down on her chair and sat back, closing her eyes. Slowly and softly, she went ahead.

"I'm gonna tell you what happened, because I need a neurologist. And you are gonna believe me, because I wouldn't even know _for sure_ this is really happening, if it wasn't for him." She pointed her finger at Wilson, who raised his stare up from the file.

"I'd say you tell him now, Cuddy."

"I am. I... okay. Listen..." Cuddy stood back up. The whole thing was starting to look oddly senseless to Foreman. What happened that was making Cuddy so ridiculously nervous?

"I'm all ears." He sat down in front of her, raised his brow in wonder.

She swallowed, and reopened her eyes, stare fixed into Foreman's.

"_House awoke._"

"House _what_?"

"He's back, Foreman. He really is."

"This is... unlikely." He exhaled.

"I know, right?" Cuddy tilted her head back and fixed her stare into the ceiling.

_This is real. _

Wilson put the file back on the table and stood up, hands on his hips. "That's what she said." He turned to Cuddy. "_Unlikely_. Yet... we saw it, Foreman. He's coming back."

Silence pushed its way between the three physicians. It was odd, and unexpected and unlikely indeed. Foreman shook his head, looking rather confused.

"House has been in a minimally conscious state for what, three years now? He was in a coma for almost a year after the incident, and I signed that damn file after we established his new state: _minimally_. _Conscious_. A veget..." His voice died away at the sight of Cuddy turning abruptly from him to hide whatever feeling that word had elicited. "I was the attending: there's my signature on that file. There's no way I could be wrong."

He knew indeed. After so many years in a semi-vegetative state, no patients ever regained the ability to interact with the outside world. They almost never resurfaced from the dark depths of their damaged, hypoxic brains, and when they did, they were never the same as before: House had been in a coma and he had then slowly transitioned to a subsequent state of minimal consciousness: only the name of it was hopeful. He could not respond to any external stimuli or threats. He could not produce any purposeful sounds, movements, reactions. His eyes could open and close and get watery; his sleep cycles were somehow observable; if one touched his fingers, he would have most likely tried to clench them: but all of this was just a reflex governed by the only part of his brain that seemed to have survived. House was comatose in the broader sense of the word, even though he was not in a coma anymore, at least not from a medical point of view. His beautiful mind had been irremediably damaged.

"His brain is damaged. There's just no way he could have..."

"He looked at me." Cuddy's eyes eventually released a couple of prickling, salty tears.

"Don't do this to yourself." Foreman whispered.

Wilson came closer and handed the file over to Foreman.

"You signed this back then. You can come see him and maybe sign it again. Miracles happen, doctor Foreman."

He knew it. He knew that miracles happened. Probably, one spontaneous, unexpected, unlikely small event would happen every day on this troubled planet. He just did not believe that any of that could ever touch his own world of science, even though he could not avoid holding on to the foggy mirage that he would see one of those before his time came. But this was just not what he was used to, or what he believed in. Was he just a heartless skeptic?

"Miracles happen." Wilson repeated.

The neurologist glanced up at him. "Do they really?"

Cuddy walked past the desk and grabbed House's file.

"They don't. But this is not the right place to debate it. Our patient is fighting the tracheal tube and his EEG is what you should see." She marched out.

–

June 11, 2013

PPTH

6PM

–

"He'd never do this." She whispered. Leaned forward, both palms spread open onto the glass panel of the ICU room, Cuddy tried to _feel_. But she could not. Even the cold sensation of the glass on the skin of her forehead was numbed, fake. As if there was something off with _life_ going on all around the comatose man lying in bed ten feet from her.

"There's something off with it."

"There isn't."

Wilson came closer and placed both hands on Cuddy's shoulders, causing her to jolt back from where she stood and turn to him.

"You startled me." She bit her lower lip and lowered her stare.

"You're shaking."

"Yeah... I... It's cold in here."

Silence. Awkward, deafening silence. Wilson looked away, trying to find something to say: but the walls and the deserted hallway were out of clues for him. He turned from her, arms crossed on his chest, counting the seconds beating on the wall clock. Her whispered remark hit him from behind.

"I don't believe it."

He came back to reality and turned to her.

"It doesn't change anything."

"I don't believe it." She hissed again.

"Look, there's nothing we can..."

"_He'd never do this. Ever!_" Surprised by her own reaction, Cuddy flashed a glance around. No one was there to hear her cry.

"Well, how do _you_ know?" Wilson shrugged and spread his arms. "_How am I fucking supposed to know? _Because – guess what? I _don't_. And neither do _you_."

She lowered her stare and exhaled. They didn't know.

"I don't even want to go there, Wilson."

"Why? What would it change?"

Few seconds later, Taub came in from the elevator. The only sound breaking the silence was the _ding_ of the doors sliding closed.

"Tox screen came in from the lab."

The three physicians exchanged looks. Taub handed the sheet over to Wilson.

"Opioids. I'm guessing Vicodin. _And_ alcohol. Too much of both, even for his standards. Led to high blood toxicity, opiate toxic syndrome enhanced by ethanol... whatever you want to call it, he overdosed."

Wilson took the sheet and froze, staring at it. House had crossed the line. Big time.

"_Asshole_."

"Look, I'm... sorry."

"It's fine. We need to keep him alive now."

"Yeah." Taub bit his lip and disappeared down the corridor.

Wilson could not turn away from what he was looking at. House had swallowed a lethal mix of chemicals. His nervous system had it all crushing on it and had given in. Following that, his whole body had. He turned to Cuddy.

"Look, this doesn't change any..."

"He'd _never_ kill himself."

_Kill himself._ Even phrasing it was painful. Reading her mind, Wilson shook his head, helplessly.

"I don't know. I guess I don't know him anymore."

"That's not true."

"I'm afraid it is."

"Don't..." She came closer, grabbed his wrist and pulled his clenched fist away from his face. Slowly, she stroked his cheek. "Don't say that. This is not your fault."

"I shouldn't have asked him to come. There's no way this _can't_ be my fault."

"He's your friend, and you wanted him to be there."

"Yes. At my wedding. To the woman _he_ loves. So don't even try, Cuddy. This is my fault."

Cuddy did not answer.

Wilson flashed a desperate glance at House's still body. Then, he seemed to realize something of the utter importance. Their gazes met, and he freed his wrist from her hold. Slowly, he ran his fingers through her hair and released his breath. They hadn't been so close since the day before. Before the wedding, and the smoke, and the chants, and the torches... And House's broken stares. Before the CPR, and his pallor, and the needles and drips coming in and out of his body.  
>Their lips were burning, their eyes were teary. He held her closer. And closer.<br>Wilson's heart skipped a beat when she pulled away.

"I'm sorry." She whispered.

He did not answer. Instead, he felt the weight of the wedding ring in his right pocket and it was as if it were a heavy stone hauling him underwater.

"It's fine. Not the right time anyway. Or place. And I'm soaked in rain and mud."

"Yeah."

"Cuddy... We'll see this through. I swear."

"_Don't_." Cuddy turned from him and went back to the window.

Wilson just stood there. He knew. He had known it from the first moment on.

"Look..." He approached and stood beside her. She did not even turn.

He walked away.

–

10PM

"Mom." Cuddy walked in and closed the door, trying not to make noise. "_Mom_."

Arlene came from the kitchen.

"Lisa."

"How's Rachel?"

"Fine. She ate, watched cartoons, went to bed."

The two women didn't speak. Instead, they stood there, looking at each other. Watching each other's reactions. Eventually, Cuddy's mother broke the silence.

"How's he?"

"Uh... he's holding up, I guess. He's..." She seemed to be about to say something too grave for both of them, but then she changed her mind. "He went home. Needed clean clothes."

"I didn't mean Wilson. Even though I want to know about him too."

"Mom..."

"How's _House_?"

Cuddy dropped a huge zipped bag to the floor and tiredly walked to the couch. She plopped down, tilting her head back.

"He's... In my ICU."

Arlene sat down beside her daughter.

"Poor _schlimazel_. How bad?"

"_Bad_, mom. Nothing I can do about it."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I know. Everyone keeps saying that." She sat up, pulling her hair back impatiently. "We'll do it soon, okay? I'm sorry it didn't go as planned."

Arlene raised her brow.

"I wasn't even remotely talking about the wedding, dear."

"I know. I know, mom..." Cuddy's eyes filled with tears for the first time after what had happened. "He's just... so helpless. And Wilson..." She got up, hands on her forehead. "He thinks it's his fault. He thinks..."

A few seconds of silence followed. Then, Arlene took her daughter's hand. Cuddy sat back down and curled up, knees propped to her chest.

"He thinks House tried to kill himself."

"Did he?"

"I don't know."

"Well, Wilson can think all he wants."

Arlene's remark surprised Cuddy. She raised her stare up to her mother.

"Why the bitterness?"

"I'm not bitter. It's just... You know I want you two to be happy. And you know I'm fond of your husband. Still..."

"He's not my husband yet. And what?"

"He's not that kind of friend."

"What are you talking about?"

"The one who walks past his loyalties for love. He shouldn't have..."

"Don't go there. Just _don't_."

"And you..."

"I love him. I love him, okay?"

"Well, don't play with his feelings then."

"I've never..."

"Lisa. What happened today is..." Arlene placed her hand over Cuddy's. "A tragedy."

"Thanks for noticing."

"What I mean is it might be a sign. Look, I've always wished for you to find happiness, and have a family on your own. A real one."

"Like you never came to me with this before."

Arlene heaved a sigh.

"House was a schmuck. Yet, I can't think of someone else seeing you better than him. The poor _meshuggener_ has gone lengths for you, honey. He couldn't accept his flaws, because he held you so dear... And _you_ couldn't accept them either."

"So that's what happened now? Is it my fault?" Cuddy sat up.

"I'm just saying you chose your soulmate from the ranks of the hopelessly troubled. And then you made it all look like a mistake."

"Wilson is my soulmate. What the heck mom, _soulmate_. You watch too much tv."

"Wilson is a mensch."

"And?"

"And you are a maven."

A hollow sneer elapsed from Cuddy's lips. "Fantastic. A decent man and a know-it-all. I'm playing with his feelings. Just say it. And cut the Yiddish slang, for god's sake."

"I'm just saying that he's a good man, and you have all the right to be happy. But right know, I guess I know where your heart is. And you should look for it in the right place."

Cuddy stood up.

"Mom, please. It's been a long day. My... _friend_ almost died."

"So that's what he is now? Years of not even mentioning his existence have made you _so_ clueless, darling."

"I _really_ don't think this is the right time for..."

"Why not?"

"_Because the man I love tried to kill himself._"

* * *

><p>an: hello there :) Thanks for reading, thanks for being patient with me not updating for ages, then updating twice in a week, and above all thanks for reviewing! Keep it up, I really look forward to your opinion on how the story is unfolding. I've seen some pretty different takes on it and I like that :) Half of you feel bad for House, the other half feel bad for Wilson. I feel bad for both :P Yet, House is not a bitch and neither is Wilson. As always in this show, the right and the wrong of life is not a clear matter. People try to be happy, put remedies to their mistakes, make other mistakes, patch them up once more, and so on. Usually, they never completely succeed, but at least they gain a clearer look at their own lives, at themselves. So now it looks like House tried to kill himself, staging his last show on the worst stage possible. But things can or cannot be what they look like, so don't take it for granted. They can't ask him anyway. So, what do you think?  
>Yiddish note: the words Arlene says are regular Yiddish words that made it into English vocabulary. Here's their meaning if you don't know already:<br>schlimazel = poor lad, extremely unlucky person.  
>meshuggener = crazy, crazy acting.<br>mensch = decent man, good guy.  
>maven = someone who is extremely informed about something. As a sort of pejorative, a know-it-all.<br>schmuck = despicable.  
>Oh, and Arlene is just a pain in the neck, isn't she? I like that she's not being of any comfort to Cuddy. She just has to always speak her mind with the worst timing possible. Like House :P<br>What's to come? In the 'present', we'll see our docs assessing House's new state. The real question here is whether or not he'll still be himself, but I'm not going to answer that because I am a schmuck.  
>Let me know what you think? *_*<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Naked

_And I don't want the world to see me_

_'Cause I don't think that they'd understand._

–

_Wow._

Floating in nothingness once again: what an endless, silent journey across the ocean of his mind. The silence was so loud, and so comforting was the embrace of his own consciousness pushing aside the white gates of this lonesome, open space. Absence of anything. He could hear his own heartbeat _from the inside_. For so long he had wished for it all to just disappear.

Or not? He felt a shot pf panic. No one was there, nothing: he was destined to chase his own steps, forever moving aimlessly in a desolated desert. He gulped, flashed a glance around, then screwed his eyes. He didn't want to stay there. He didn't want to die there.

Something cracked the white open.

Now, that was a surprise. Because if the first time it could have been a glitch in his altered perceptions, this time it wasn't. Glitches like those don't really repeat themselves. This was real. But what was it?

Was his year-long weird dream coming to an end? Was this an awakening of some sort? But an awakening _from_ _what_, exactly? And even more importantly, an awakening to what? To _whom_? House felt naked. Not exactly new or anything like that. Just naked, and for that scared.

And then he smelled it. His favorite one. The _breeze_, that's what it was. The breeze smelled like all things alive, the only variable was the scent of the season. This one breeze smelled like summer, and food, and it was stronger than earlier. It was caressing him as in a dance. How long had passed since he had smelled _food_? He did not let go off the novelty. That was a nice addition to the whiteness of his previous years.

But then something else came. Sounds. Voices. Distant music. The almost imperceptible yet _finally_ perceptible weight of the cottoned sheet on his naked legs. He tried to explore the next sensation.

And the next sensation came to him.

Light. Light through the thin skin of his eyelids.

And a stinging, pulsating yet warmly familiar series of close-range stings bubbling up in soft explosions. He could have easily traced the line of the pain traveling his leg.

–

House blinked awake for the second time. Someone's voice addressed him softly, then he felt something being pulled out his throat. He coughed it up and was able to breathe again.

_What the hell is this thing_.

Someone patted the corners of his lips with a fresh, wet towel.

_Oh, shit. I must be drooling the living daylights out of..._

"House. Look at me, come on."

_Wilson. Don't even think of crying in front of me, you wimp. You'll regret it._

"House... Hey. We're here. The tube's out."

_I know, for god's sake. _

"I can't believe it."

_Of course you can't, Foreman. The last time you got hit by surprise you must have been in preschool. Boring._

"What did I tell you?"

_Shut up, y'all. Like, shut the hell..._

"House... Don't be scared, okay? House? Hey. Look at me. _Please_..."

_Here you are_.

Cuddy bent over him. She dried his lips once again, then placing an oxygen mask onto his scruffy features.

_Take this thing off me. Now._

"Breathe. Close your mouth, come on. Breathe."

_Fine. I'm breathing. Is that okay?_

She pushed gently on his jaw to help him close his mouth.

"It's going to be all right. You'll do this on your own soon."

_Yeah, sure._

She drew back a little, gazing up at someone else. He could tell she was worried by the look she flashed. It must have been Wilson, who was standing on the opposite side of the bed.

"He's not here. He's not looking."

_Hey. I'm in the room. Words can hurt, you know._

"He is. The signs are here."

Foreman's voice came from somewhere beside him. He was probably messing with the machinery at his bedside.

"We need a contrast MRI to update the state of the tissue damage and an fMRI to see if his speech and motor areas are responsive. Looks like he _is_ here, regardless from that: EEG is spiking."

_Guys, you must be deaf and blind... Foreman is right._

"I don't know, Foreman. I could be wrong." Cuddy's voice broke and she quit talking.

"No! You weren't wrong. I was here too. Come on, don't..."

"Look, it might just be the breathing. It doesn't mean anything. I don't even know what I saw."

"But I know." Wilson couldn't sound more convinced. Foreman turned from the EEG monitor to Cuddy, who was standing behind him.

"Wilson's right. Listen, let's do that MRI, okay? Even just to be sure we were wrong."

"We _are_. I was an idiot to even _think_ he could wake up."

A moment of silence followed Cuddy's words. Then, her voice came out in a whisper.

"I could tell he was looking at me. I swear I could." She sat down on the edge of the mattress and put her hand over House's.

_Hey. What are you doing._

She stared up at Wilson.

"What if he's not... What if his consciousness... what if it's not back with him?"

Wilson flashed a glance at House.

_You. Beware what you say._

"I don't know. I can tell something changed, I... He's waking up. He _is_."

_I like this._

"He needs time." Wilson rubbed his forehead, looking pensively at his friend. "But we need to be prepared, I guess. He's probably not going to be himself ever again."

Few seconds of silence followed.

"_Hey._"

Three pairs of eyes stared down at House, who laboriously brought a hand to his oxygen mask and shifted it aside, trying to swallow the invisible gravel filling his mouth.

"_F-Fu-...ck. You." _


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Paper Boats

* * *

><p>PPTH<p>

July, 2017

–

"Hi." Cuddy whispered, running the back of her hand on his forehead; she adjusted the oxygen mask on his face and stroked his pepper scruff. House's stare wandered laboriously before meeting hers. The corners of her lips turned upwards.

"Hi." She repeated.

His eyes filled with words, floating on the blue ocean of his irises like tiny paper boats. But his mouth didn't move. He screwed his eyelids closed for a second, despair emanating from his distorted expression. Cuddy sat down on the edge of the mattress at House's left side and placed both her hands on the back of his.

"It's all right."

_Yeah, sure. _

He turned his face from her, trying to find comfort in an apparent privacy.

"House."

"..."

"Look at me." Her tone was somehow stronger. He didn't react. Cuddy held out her hand and touched his right cheek, causing him to turn back.

"House. You can't do this."

_I know, right?_

Her expression softened.

"You will be okay, it just takes time."

_Patience is not my best feature._

"Stay with us. Please."

His eyes filled with tears. She bit her lower lip, trying not to give in to her own tears prickling the corners of her eyes. Again, she stroked his cheek. Slowly, she bent over.

"I'm always here."

Her warm lips touched those of him, motionless and mute.

–

And then House blinked awake.

"Hey."

She was there.

_Hello beautiful._

Cuddy stood up from the leathered armchair she had pulled up to House's bed and ran her fingers through his hair.

"It's late."

_Go home to your kid. At least she can talk to you._

"I'm going home."

_Leave the boobs. Please?_

"House..."

"Yeah."

_Holy mother of..._

Cuddy's smile lit up the room.

"House!"

She dropped her purse. She bent over. She planted a kiss on his lips.

_What just happened._

Blanching, she drew back.

"I've got to tell Wilson."

_Don't. Let's resume the kissing._

Cuddy brought a hand to her mouth, rubbing her lips.

"I... uhm. I'll see you tomorrow."

She grabbed her car keys.

_No. Come on. _

"Cuddy."

_Looks like I'm getting good._

She placed a hand on his forehead. His stare pierced hers, but he couldn't find the words anymore. He couldn't retry the movements of his lips. Some hidden pathway was cut.

_Why. I need to be able to do this. I need that._

"I know."

_No, you don't. Because I can't tell you._

"I know it's hard."

_You've got a point._

She gently repositioned the pillows wedged behind his neck and underneath his arms.

"You'll be fine. I promise you."

_Two consecutive words would be enough for the short period._

"You _will_ be fine. And stop staring at my bra."

_I'm staring at your eyes. And by eyes, I mean..._

"I'm going home. Wilson's going to be here with junk food and all. Try and say hi to him."

_He'll drown in his own tears if I manage. _

"That would be a blast for you to watch."

_You read my mind, boss._

She went for the door and pushed on the handle. Turning to him one last time for the day, she raised a smile.

"Goodnight, House."

He took a breath.

"Goo...Good..." The word died away somewhere in his throat.

_Fuck. Me._

Cuddy flipped her hair.

"There's always tomorrow."

That said, she left the room.

* * *

><p>Cuddy's house<p>

September, 2017

–

"Hello, sweetheart." Cuddy kneeled onto the wooden floor of her porch to hug her daughter.

"Mom! You're squeezing me." Rachel giggled. She pulled away. "I'm all wet. Just showered."

"I can see that. Where have you guys been?" Cuddy stood back up. The door cracked open and Wilson appeared.

"Beach."

"_I can see that_." Cuddy's wide eyed look shifted from Rachel to Wilson. "You _so_ need to shower."

"Look, I don't even have clean clothes. I hadn't planned this..." He blushed. Sand poured from his boxers; his hair was crusty with salt.

Cuddy turned to Rachel.

"Rach?"

The little girl spread her arms.

"He fell from the pier."

"You _what_?"

Wilson shrugged.

"I... Slipped."

Rachel giggled.

"He didn't."

Nothing could keep her from telling the whole story of how Wilson had gone from flying her kite to _not_ noticing he had reached the end of the pier. Not even his desperate mimics behind Cuddy's back. He gave up.

"I was having fun!"

"You lost control."

"_I was having fun_."

"You fell!"

"Okay, I fell."

Wilson exhaled.

Cuddy hardly restrained the smirk.

"Okay then. You can borrow my shower. And you, little miss..." She took Rachel's hand. "It's bed time."

"But you're just back..."

_Yes, honey. I'm sorry I was late. I don't need a reminder, I guess. Thank god for Wilson's time off this week. _

–

Half an hour later, Wilson registered the last admitted patient into the log. No one else seemed to be waiting for him in the ER. He stealthily sneaked out the clinic and went for the stairs. No need to risk stumbling upon Foreman in the elevator. He had missed House _so much_.

He watched him sleep for a couple minutes, leaned against the doorframe. Then, House sensed his presence.

"Hi."

"Hey... I'm sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up."

_For god's sake, Wilson. Just come inside. Formulating the entire invitation will cost me a square inch of gray matter._

Wilson made it as if to leave.

"D-damn. Co-come..."

_Come in. Two words. Is it that hard?_

Wilson turned back with a smirk.

"Okay. Night shift was boring anyway."

House's lips shaped a smile. He couldn't help but find that tension in his muscles and skin very pleasant.

_Cool. I missed this._

Wilson sat down beside his friend. They sat through their comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, watching each other's reactions.

"N-nice..." House's snark spoke for him. He flashed a glance at his friend's fitted, black Madonna t-shirt with the cover of Like A Virgin printed on it in bright colors. Wilson raised his hands.

"It's Cuddy's. Thank god she wore extra large stuff in med school."

"I... M-meant. It."

"Go to hell. Since when you improved this much?" Wilson's playful tone was hiding his utter joy in seeing House being able to interact with the world. Glances, looks and stares were making room for words. Slowly. Laboriously. House's smile faded.

"Wilson." His tone and expression couldn't be more serious.

"What."

"Hel-help. Me."

Wilson jumped to his feet.

"What's wrong? You're feeling sick?"

"No. No..."

House seemed to make an unbearable effort to utter his wish.

"Up."

"House!"

"Help. M-me. Up."

"Are you out of your mind? You can't walk. You're not strong enough."

"I w-want."

"I know. Okay..." Wilson spread his arms. "Okay, I'm going to find a wheelchair. I'll be right b..."

"No!"

House's eyes couldn't express his feelings better. Wilson thought he didn't even need actual words if he was going to keep looking at people like that.

"Look, this is not a good idea. Your legs are too weak."

"I w-want...Out. P-please."

_I just want to take a stroll. Check out the new nurses. See if General Hospital reruns are still on late at night. Steal candy from the nurses' station. Come on, Wilson. I don't wanna go out on fucking wheels. It's boring in here. No one to mock. No weird symptoms. Nothing to be excited about. _

Wilson slowly shook his head and bent over House.

"I know I'll regret this. Come on."

He grabbed House's right arm and wrapped it around his shoulders. With his own free left arm, he hooked House's waist and pulled.

_This is never gonna work._

Yet, it seemed to. House felt the cold tiled floor underneath his feet. Something new, again. He tested his weight on the leg, and it seemed to be fine. It was actually Wilson sustaining his whole body, but that was _so_ close to walking. He held on to the IV pole with his left hand.

_Wow._

They took a step. And another one.

"House..."

House flashed a glance under his armpit. Wilson's hectic cheeks had a tear rolling down them.

_For god's sake._

Five minutes later, they were outside. Thirty minutes later, they had reached the elevators. One entire hour later, they plopped down next to each other, and no other plastic chair than those of the ER had ever seemed more comfortable to the two of them.

"Thanks."

"Yeah."

* * *

><p>an: hey guys! I would like to thank you all for the reviews, it's always a pleasure to read your thoughts on the story! I loved writing this chapter, mostly because of the hilson in it (I like huddy, but I've written so much of it already that it just comes out on its own)... Anyway, I tried to give it a comedic tone, but with a touch of drama. Hope I succeeded. More hilson to come? Yes. More huddy to come? YES. More drama to come? Can't wait. Let me know what you think :)


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

_Switch of the Flick_

* * *

><p>PPTH<p>

September, 2017

–

A wide-eyed Chase dropped a box of epi shots onto the nurses' station and turned back to check what he had just noticed.

"House? What the hell are you doing down here?"

"T-tak...ta-king a s-str-st.."

"What about no? You must be exhausted, are you feeling any dizziness? Joint pain?" He pulled a torch from his pocket and flashed it into House's eyes.

"H-hey!"

_You just burnt my retinas, for god's sake._

Chase put the flashlight back into the pocket of his coat and crossed his arms. "This is serious, House. You're not supposed to wander like that. You don't _take_ _strolls_."

House grinned. "B-bore-d."

"How on earth did you get down here, anyway?" Chase's surprised look softened when he saw a sweaty Wilson and immediately realized the answer to his question was not as absurd as he had figured it.

"You okay? Did he blackmail you to take him here?"

"N-no!" At the sound of House's loud, outrage-filled protest, a couple of patients turned to the trio.

"I'm fine, thanks. My bones will heal someday, I guess." Wilson exhaled.

Chase went back to the counter and took a patient file, then he turned to the two of them.

"Look, I've got one last patient for the night, but I'll be right back. I want to take a look at your muscles," He pointed his finger at House's legs. "We'll go downstairs for an electromyography."

"T-tor-ture!"

"Yeah. Let's make this night shift worthy, shall we?"

That said, Chase cracked the door to exam room one open and disappeared inside.

House turned to Wilson.

"R-run?"

"Run."

Five minutes later, they were finally standing. Chase was still nowhere to be seen.

"Let's go. Left foot." Wilson hissed, crushed by his friend's unbalanced weight. House slowly pushed his foot ahead of him without lifting it. "Good job House... I might even survive this. Right foot."

That was hard. House's expression distorted in pain as he tried to move his right leg.

"I ca-I can-t."

"No, no, no. Come on. Hold on to the IV pole. You're gonna do this."

"H-hu-hur-ts."

"I know. I _know_, House. Listen, just sit back, okay? Let's find a wheelch..."

A woman passed out, plopping heavily down on the floor.

_Female.  
>Caucasian.<br>Mid-forties... Pale complexion, blushy cheeks.  
>Foamy drool, sweaty skin.<br>Probably feverish.  
>Shaking like a leaf, kept massaging her knees all the time...<br>Eyes wide open, red-circled, misty... can't speak, can't move.  
>That's a seizure.<br>Epileptic? No need for the joint pain and the teary look.  
>That's...<em>

"Meningovascular syphilis."

Wilson almost let go of House's arm as a couple of nurses wheeled the patient away on a gurney. The noise got Chase out of the exam room.

"What just happened?"

House took a breath and stood back upright, holding on to Wilson.

"Nevermind. I couldn't stay away. _Now_ we can go."

_I knew she was about to pass out. Perfect timing. _

Wilson exhaled.

_And... action._

_–_

Another hour later, a breathless House plopped down into his bed, inhaling heavily from the oxygen mask, which he squeezed with both hands. A concerned Wilson hooked him up to the monitor and checked his friend's vitals.

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes. I haven't exactly been training for walking a marathon in the recent years."

"Yeah, I was just..."

"Worried. It's fine. It's so good to watch you torture yourself."

"I missed you saying that."

"I missed saying that."

"Vitals look fine."

"Told ya. I'm not gonna kick the bucket for taking a stroll."

"What the hell happened down there, House?"

House knew what Wilson was talking about.

"I was right. Just wait until tomorrow morning, when the blood work comes in."

"That's..."

"Awesome. I know."

"No, I mean..."

"I know what you mean. I can go back to that if it's just for the sake of coherence."

"How did you..."

"I don't know. Guess it was time."

"I should've taken you down there before. What else could bring back one's speech..."

"You came first. I told you to fuck off when I woke up! Are you jealous of a syphilitic patient?"

"You _stuttered me_ to fuck off. You _announced_ the woman's diagnosis."

"Flick's been switched. Switch's been flicked. Oh, I love this. Thank god it's back."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, then House shifted his oxygen mask aside and turned to his friend.

"Wilson."

"Yes?"

"How did I end up here?"

–––

PPTH

Cuddy's office

–

"We _can't_ tell him."

"Oh, come on."

"Cuddy, that's not a good idea."

"You want to lie to him?"

"No! I..." Wilson stood up, hands on his hips. He began pacing the room, rubbing his forehead. "I don't want to lie to him, okay?"

Cuddy sat back, exhaling.

"But you did."

"I didn't." Wilson quit walking and turned to her. "I told him he had a Vicodin overdose."

"Which _is_ what happened."

He shrugged. "Look, I can't tell him where it happened. I can't tell him why it happened."

"But we can't hide that from him forever."

"I'm afraid we should." Wilson whispered. He sat back down. Cuddy leaned forward, pointing her elbows onto the wooden desk.

"You still think he tried to kill himself."

Wilson hesitated. Then, he took a breath and crossed his arms.

"We've been talking about this from the first moment on. You do know what I think."

"You do know what _I_ think." She raised her brows, her voice somehow colder.

"I can't tell him. I can't."

"But we can't lie to him. He's going to remember, he's going to _find out_."

"What if he doesn't?"

"What if he _does_! He's going to hate us."

"He doesn't need to. He succeeded anyway in what he..."

"Wilson, I am not willing to let you go there."

"So what? Are you afraid he's gonna hate you because of _us_? This is real _life_, not one of his damn soaps."

"I just don't want to lie to him. But I'm afraid of the moment he finds out the truth."

"I haven't lied to him. I just can't tell him he collapsed at my wedding with _you_. I'm not telling him he drank away his pain with Vicodin on tops, _on purpose_." Wilson stood up and went for the door.

"That is because you don't know."

He turned back and shrugged.

"Yes! I don't know. And guess what? I don't even want to. He got what he wanted."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Cuddy hissed.

"He's practically dead. We break up. Four years later, he wakes and all's back to the start. Like it never happened. That is _so_ easy. So very _Houseian_."

Cuddy stood up and bent over, palms spread open onto the desk. She flashed a wide-eyed glance at her friend standing in the doorframe.

"_You think he did it on purpose?_" She hissed.

"Yes!"

Cuddy blanched.

"Wilson..." Her voice trembled and broke.

"What."

"Are you out of your mind?" She whispered, swallowing down a lump of air.

"Yes. And guess what, I'm _angry_. What he touches, he spoils. He poisoned everything." Wilson's voice was low and trembling. He screwed his eyes closed for a moment to overcome the burning tears. Cuddy slowly shook her head.

"He almost died. He can't even get out of bed and lift something the weight of a book by himself now, and we don't know for how long he won't be able to. His entire body cycles are disrupted. It took him _three months_ to even _speak_ decently. _Do you think he wanted this_?"

Wilson bit his lower lip and lowered his stare. His voice came out in a whisper.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

"I've never let go. I'm sorry it came out this way."

"It was about time. You didn't even yell at me when I broke up with you." Cuddy raised a sad smile.

"Look... I'm at peace with what happened. I guess. It's just..." Wilson spread his arms. "House waking up... it brought up... _stuff_. Stuff I had buried. With him."

"He's not dead."

"I thought he was."

Cuddy's expression softened. She walked past the desk and reached Wilson at the door. She placed a hand over his shoulder.

"I know. But he's back. He's recovering. And we have to stick together, whatever approach we decide on."

"I know I can't lie to House. But I don't want him to hate me."

Cuddy took a deep breath. That was going to be hard.

"We don't need to go there now. Let's wait and see, at least until he comes up with another question."

"That's practically lying."

"No. Listen..." She took his hand. "You know I don't believe he was trying to kill himself. We can't tell him that we don't know. But if he's going to ask about how it happened..."

"...I'll tell him about the damn wedding. I swear I will. _God I hate this_."

"_We_ will tell him. And I hate this too."

* * *

><p>an: I'm planning a huddy sex scene. And that's a completely random author note. Thanks all for the reviews. This thing is getting as many as Do No Harm, which is so very cool.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

–

Metamorphoses X

–

Saepe manus operi temptantes admovet, an sit

corpus an illud ebur, nec adhuc ebur esse fatetur.

_He lifts up both his hands to feel the work,  
>and wonders if it can be ivory,<br>because it seems to him more truly flesh._

* * *

><p>Cuddy startled at the sound of her office door slammed open. She dropped the pen and raised her stare up to where the noise came from.<p>

"I want my team back." House announced triumphantly. That said, he propelled himself up to the desk, pushing hard on the handrims to overcome the friction of the wheels with the soft carpet covering the floor.

"Damn this boneshaker, Cuddy. Buy me a new wheelchair."

"It's not the wheelchair. And it's not yours. _And_. I was working in here."

"I don't care. We need to talk. In fact, I need to talk and you need to listen..."

"Answer's no."

"Why?"

"Answer's no."

"What the..."

"_Answer's no_."

"Okay, I get it. You don't need to get all crabby."

"I'm not crabby." Cuddy furrowed her brow.

"Your lips say no..." House pointed his finger at her with a smirk.

"Shut up, House." Cuddy sat back and held out a long breath. "I'm so tired." She closed her eyes and went silent. House flashed her a glance.

"I could un-tire you."

"Sure."

He wheeled himself closer.

"Let's make a deal, shall we? You give me my team back and I..."

"You're not going to give up, are you?" Cuddy stood up and bent over the desk. House adjusted himself in the wheelchair and crossed his arms, tightening his lips.

"I want my team back."

"That I had extrapolated already."

"Let's work the deal then. Come on."

"House..."

"Okay, I get it: I can't do anything for you. You're the boss, I'm the employee. But you're underestimating my _other_ abilities."

"I'm not..." Cuddy turned from him, trying to hide the blush on her cheeks. She chuckled, recalling his clearly preserved ability to throw random sex references in the middle of random conversations on random topics. She was not underestimating anything: in fact, she was about to give up. But she couldn't. She turned to him.

"House... We're not testing each other's endurance here."

"Then give me my people back. Come on."

"I can't."

"Why? I'm your employee: employ me."

"You are my _patient_."

House lowered his stare, exhaling.

"Yeah."

"House... I'm sorry. You're not ready for that."

"I don't think so." He whispered.

"I'm sorry," She repeated. Lifting her hand, she placed it over his, spread open onto the desk. "You need to take it easy."

House pulled away, a freezing look in his bluest eyes.

"Just say you don't trust my judgement." He hissed.

"I'm not..." She shook her head, incredulous. "I didn't say that!"

"You think my judgement is compromised." House's eyes saddened. "Just drop the hypocrisy, it'll make things easier. Sorry for bothering you."

Looking weaker than ever, he laboriously turned the wheelchair and propelled himself towards the door.

"House, don't..." Cuddy walked past the desk and went for him. "House!"

He turned back.

"_What_?" He snarled.

"I know what you did in the ER. Wilson told me."

"Yeah, that was just a hunch, right? Because now I'm just the miracle cripple with a screw loose."

"Don't say that." Cuddy whispered.

House didn't reply. She came closer.

"I'm sorry." She kneeled in front of him, lifting her right hand to touch his scruff.

"What are you..." House's wide-eyed look didn't stop her other hand from framing his features.

"I'm so sorry." She repeated. And she was in fact: House's broken look, his merciless comment on his current state, the vehement long for his old world. All was telling her how bad he wanted to go back to his previous life, but most of all how bad he was seeking to demonstrate that he was all there. On that matter, she hadn't had a doubt from the first moment on.

House turned his face.

"Shut up, Cuddy. I gotta go. Like... really. Forget about the team." He tried to pull away, but she placed both her hands over his, blocking the handrims.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I don't want you to go."

"Would you grab someone's leg?"

She didn't reply. House shrugged.

"Okay then. I'm going to my room. Fourth floor." He raised his brow. "Not that I can go anywhere else."

"I know."

"Yeah, okay. Bye then." Again, he sat back, ready to leave.

"House."

"What is it?" He exhaled.

"I... Thought you were... gone."

Cuddy was staring at him in utter surprise and with the deepest amazement, as if only now she was fully realizing that he was back on earth. She ran her fingertips onto the skin of his forearms, up to his biceps and shoulders. House couldn't move. He was stuck, physically and emotionally glued to the image of her touching his body, filling his nerves with sensation, something he had truly missed even before falling into his year-long sleep. Her touch was bringing alive his whole self, which he had buried along with the memory of the day he had given up his life and happiness in spite of the fear of losing her to death. Since then, no breath, no glance, no color and smell had been meaningful and real to him anymore, until that moment of utter and complete awakening of his perceptions, whose myriad sensations were filling his whole self with awe.

"What's happening." He murmured. "I... I don't think this is a good..."

"Hush." Cuddy whispered to his left ear. "Hold on to me."

She took hold of both his wrists and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Slowly, she began standing up, carrying his body up with hers, while enfolding him in her own arms, hooked to his waist. They found themselves standing upright, panting heavily. House's face was wrinkled from the exertion, small drops of sweat leaving transparent trails on his skin. He screwed his eyes closed for a moment.

"I can't..." He grimaced in pain.

"I'm here. Don't be scared."

Cuddy saw House's whole body shaking in the effort of standing steady on his still weak legs. She reinforced the hold on his waist, tightening the grip of her own arms underneath his armpits. They were wrapped up in this sort of odd dance posture, both incapable of recalling the last time they had been so close, so connected. House's blue gaze met Cuddy's: she could read all the surprise and the realization hitting him at the same time. She planted a kiss in the crook of his neck and stood there, her forehead touching his scruff. House's arms shifted from her shoulders down to her back, his fingertips flavoring the touch of her collarbones, before sliding down to her blades, backbone and then hips. She was a statue, his perfect, marble goddess, his greek sculpture coming alive under the touch of his hands: he wondered how bad a Pygmalion he had been for not being able to cherish his bliss come from above. Feeling his own weight crushing his knees, again he held tight to her, fearing that his unholy hold could leave bruises onto her ivory skin.

Cuddy's lips sought for House's. Whilst, they slowly turned, their bodies still hooked on to each other. Lost in that warmth-filled labyrinth of a kiss, they fell down onto the couch, House's wheelchair abandoned amidst the room. They didn't need to speak, or clarify. There was nothing to be explained because there was simply no other explanation than the need for each other they had always had, despite the years and the wrong turns and the indelible mistakes disseminated all along the way by both of them. House finally caught his breath, raising his stare up to something only he was seeing, the shake in his whole body fading slowly while Cuddy's lips were caressing the velvet skin of the back of his ears. This time, he kissed her back, finally gaining enough control over his own body to allow himself to let go. Closing his eyes, House contoured her lips with the tip of his tongue, his hands slipping underneath her cottoned blue dress to finally reach her panties, which he delicately pulled down.

His whole self was coming alive in the utmost sensitivity. Every touch of her fingertips, every glance, every moan she let out gathered somewhere deep inside him and built up the expectation of their bodies becoming a whole. For the first time in years, for the first _meaningful_ time in years, House felt his manhood hardening as she wedged a hand behind the back of his head and pulled him closer. With his right cheek pressed onto her breasts, he sustained himself pointing one hand against the backrest of the couch and wrapped his free arm around her waist. The feeling of burgeoning erection of his member against her pubes made her impatient, as she vehemently ripped the hospital gown off him. The laces untied easily, obeying her eager fingers as she exposed his chest, planting kisses all over the naked skin, as he lay back, breathing heavily with his eyes wide open, staring above. Cuddy bent over and took his manhood in her hands, massaging slowly until House found himself grabbing her wrists with both hands, pulling them away with vehemence: he brought them to her hip-bones and kept his grip firm there, his hands over hers, moving rhythmically in soft thrusts until he was inside her.

He couldn't even feel her weight over his body while he was flavoring the warmth of the final contact. He couldn't feel the effort cutting him short of breath. He couldn't feel the tears of liberation rolling down his cheeks. He couldn't see the crazed, inebriated smile on her face as he couldn't see the same one depicted on his own. It was a long-sought intoxication with each other's blood and sweat.

"Come to me. Come... _now_..." Her frantic whisper was filled with the utmost frenzy of a long awaited burst of uncontrolled, flourishing passion. "_House_..."

He cried out.

Few seconds later, the room went dark.

"_In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters._

_And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness. Then God said, "Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness, so that they may rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground. So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them."_

What is this.

"_Behold, you are consecrated to me with this ring according to the laws of Moses and Israel."_

No.

"_Behold, I am prepared and declared to receive this sign according to the law of..."_

This is not happening.

House's bloodstream was filled with a cold, slowly flowing liquid. All the warmth and the beauty of the world were gone.

This was happening. It _happened_.

His head was spinning, his sight was foggy and confused. His mouth was dry and nothing made sense anymore. Or maybe everything made sense _now_.

"House!"

Her voice.

"House..." She took his face with both hands and bent over, wiping the tears off his cheeks with her toes. They were back in Cuddy's office, half-naked on her couch. All at once, House felt weary, hopeless.

"You lied to me."

"What?" She shook her head.

"You _two_ lied to me."

"What are you talking about?"

House held out his right arm and hooked his gown lying on the floor. He slipped into it and tied up the laces behind his neck.

"Get off me."

"House..."  
>"<em>I said.<em> _Get. Off. Me._"

Cuddy didn't realize what was happening. She found herself standing, frozen motionless with her dress partially unbuttoned. House sat up, trying to reach for the the wheelchair without having to stand up.

"House... you're gonna hurt yourself." She got closer, grabbed his forearm in an attempt to help him stand. He pulled away.

"I thought I was clear." He hissed.

She stood there, impotently watching his struggle to stand up. She was starting to realize what had just happened. And she couldn't say anything, not just because he had cut the cord linking them with his previous snarl: there was nothing she could say about what House thought had happened. That was it. And the latest events had triggered his memory of the incident, which were now flowing back in him.

Before her helpless eyes, House's laborious, unsteady steps finally reached the wheelchair. He collapsed into it and turned from her without even adjusting himself in a better position. Sprawled into his only mean of transportation, he pushed on the handrims and wheeled himself out of sight, trying to control his pounding heart and the uncontrolled shaking of his hands.

* * *

><p>an: eagerly waiting for your hate, folks.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

November Rain

–

_No haven for this heart  
>No shelter for this child in mazes lost<br>Heaven keep us apart  
>A curse for every mile of ocean crossed<br>For I must die for what I've done._

* * *

><p>"House!" Wilson, who had been napping distractedly on the leathered armchair in his friend's room, jumped to his feet at the sight of a shaky, pale House coming in, panting heavily as he propelled himself up to the bed and stood up, holding on to the now empty IV pole. Exhausted, he fell onto the blankets and lay there, his eyes staring aimlessly at the ceiling.<p>

"What the hell happened to you?" Wilson bent over. "House?"

He didn't reply.

"House, talk to me." He exhaled.

House's stare focused on Wilson, whose sixth sense instantly linked the icy-cold glance his friend flashed at him to what had just happened.

"You thought I was trying to kill myself." House's tone was even drier than he had expected it to sound. Wilson turned from him, bringing a hand to his forehead.

"Were you?" He whispered.

"No, for god's sake."

"I... Didn't know what to think."

"You lied to me. You _left me wondering_ how I got here."

"I didn't..."

"I _asked_ you. One entire month has passed and you've beenlyingto me since then."

Wilson turned back to House.

"I thought you couldn't handle..."

"Well, _fuck off_ Wilson!" House snarled, sitting up with a strength he didn't even think he still had. "I'm done having you two tiptoe around me!"

Wilson didn't move: he crossed his arms and stood there, raising his brow.

"Then tell me what I should have said. That I was glad your suicide attempt hadn't worked?"

"I wasn't trying to kill myself!"

"Fine! I didn't know... " Wilson shrugged. "There was no way I could _possibly_ know that! You fell into a _goddamn_ coma."

"You could have known." House pointed his finger at him. "But you just thought it was _so very_ like me, that I couldn't handle other people's happiness." He turned his face for a moment, then got back to Wilson's upset grimace. "Whatever, guess what?" He pierced him right through with a glance. "I was _trying_ to handle _your_ happiness. That's what I was doing."

Wilson shook his head, gaze fixed into the geometric pattern of the tiled floor.

"I... don't know what I thought. You overdosed." He whispered. "Vicodin, alcohol... What the hell was I supposed to think?"

"Yeah, the suicidal, crippled, addicted nutjob showing off at his best friend's wedding. How cliché."

"I wasn't sure of what you were clinging to. I've spent years wondering."

"_Clinging_. See?" House's hollow snark echoed in the silence. "You don't trust me with anything."

"What are you talking about?"

"You think everything I did was to get back at you two, my personal vendetta with self-destructiveness on tops." House's remark couldn't sound bitterer. "You think I'm _that_ evil. Well, thank you. But hey!" He spread his arms. "Who's the one who asked _me_ to be there?"

"House... Stop it." Wilson raised his hands, in vain.

"You were so generous to me...You gave me a chance there, right? To _redeem_ myself." House's stare, his grimace, the blanching of his knuckles, everything about him at that exact, same moment could have set the entire room on fire. He released an empty, bitter laugh. "How _so_ manipulative, how _so_ patronizing of you..."

"House!" Wilson's wide-eyed look spoke volumes about the entity of his realization. House wasn't trying to kill himself. He was trying to be there for the two of them, and meds were his twisted way of being strong enough to accept the pain that inevitably happens when one cares. Exactly as he had tried to do back at the time of Cuddy's health scare, House had relied on Vicodin to survive the trial, to put up a brave persona to show the people whom he cared the most about. Wilson screwed his eyes closed for a second, tiding his head back.

"House... Please. Stop it. I think..." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "I wasn't trying to manipulate you into anything. And... I'm glad I was wrong about the pills. I was an idiot." He exhaled.

"Good. Because, guess what? I'd never take _my_ life because of you." House shook his head, slowly. "Ever. I'd never _have_."

They went silent for a few seconds. Then, Wilson's words leaked out in a whisper.

"I'm sorry."

The corners of House's lips turned upwards, but his eyes weren't smiling at all.

"Go for it. It's the only thing you're good at. Must be so easy to be you." He hissed.

His blue irises remained fixed into those of his friend, who felt pierced right through by the truth emanating from House's merciless stare. After some moments of complete silence between the two of them, Wilson couldn't sustain any more of that. He bit his lower lip and turned from House. Grabbing his jacket, he walked out the room.

–

"You told him." Wilson slammed the door to Cuddy's office open. His still incredulous words came out almost frantically. "You told him, for the life of..."

"I didn't tell him anything!" Cuddy pulled her hair back and turned to the bow window behind her desk. She had been expecting that. The rain pouring all over Princeton made the sky dark even though it was just early in the afternoon, and a few leaves where whirling about in the wind. It was starting to get colder, as November was slowly approaching. More than a month had passed since House's epiphany in the ER, and countless times he had tried his best with Cuddy to get his team back. Countless times she had said no. Only this one, though, they had ended up naked on the couch. She couldn't believe what had happened right after that.

"I didn't tell him." Cuddy sat down at her desk, massaging her temples. "But I think it's my fault anyway." She exhaled.

Wilson raised his brow.

"I think I'm missing something here."

"I..." She released a hollow laugh. "I think I've been... an emotional _trigger_."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Cuddy stood up and began pacing the room.

"House's memories of the incident..." She suddenly quit walking and stopped by the bookshelves, which she leaned against. "His brain shut them away somehow."

"I guess so. He performed good in long-term memory tests... knows stuff about himself and the world and his damn science. He did significantly worse on his laundry list the week before the overdose."

"Yeah... Okay, that's not what I was talking about. I mean..." Cuddy brought a hand to her forehead and turned back to Wilson. "It _is_ what I was talking about, only..."

Wilson was puzzled.

"Only...?"

"I guess I triggered some sort of psychological reaction. His last memories were still there. Buried, somehow. They came back... because I... stressed him."

"Did you hypnotize him, for heaven's sake?" Wilson didn't know what to think anymore. Cuddy didn't reply. The guilty glance she flashed at her friend was her final admission. He shook his head, incredulous, trying to fend off the information.

"What have you done."

"I've been an idiot."

"_What have you done_."

"I think I should pass the case to Foreman."

"Jesus Christ, Cuddy! This is not about the case... you..." Wilson couldn't even think of how to phrase it. "You..." He pointed his finger at her. "...Are the most irresponsible, selfish... I can't believe it. I can't believe it. I _can't_..." He kept shaking his head, his arms spread open, his mind incapable of conceiving the gravity of the events. He took a breath and went ahead.

"You two are a perfect match. The same kind. Responsibilities? Rational mind? Neither of you have the _faintest_ idea. But this time it's just _you_..."

"I know." She whispered.

"You don't! You _don't_ know, Cuddy. You were his doctor, for god's sake, you're not supposed..." He swallowed. "You're not supposed to..."

"He thinks we lied to him. _Purposely_."

"Of course he does! He just kicked me out of his room."

Cuddy raised her stare up to Wilson.

"Damn."

"Yeah. And guess what? It's over. _We_ are over. So there's nothing I can do for him right now because his _doctor_ acted like a teenager in heat."

Cuddy's eyes filled with tears. Wilson was right. That could only happen in the worst TV soaps. In real life, you can't just _not_ care about the consequences of having the love of your life recall how he got in a year-long coma because _you_ made him remember. Because you let go, giving in to your buried feelings without even thinking of the fallout. She was his attending, not certainly his girlfriend impatient to bring him home and catch up with the missed years. She should have remained detached, a caring friend still capable to balance her feelings. A responsible doctor whose patient needed psychological aid to slowly regain control over his consciousness, memories, over the emotional trauma he needed to recover from. Instead, she had had that emotional trauma crush on him all at once, and all that just because she had let go, blinded by her instincts. Cuddy loved House. She had never ceased loving him, not even when she believed she hated him because of how tremendously horrible he had been to her. She had made her own choice of leaving him and yet she had needed all her strength not to fall into his arms once again while standing at his door, saying goodbye. He was wrong and poisonous. Wasn't he? Whatever the answer, she realized Wilson was right: she was the same as him. Screwed up.

Wilson stood up. Right before slamming the door closed behind him, he turned back to Cuddy and flashed a glance at her.

"It was your responsibility to keep your patient safe. This is your fault."

That said, he dashed out.

* * *

><p><strong>Four years earlier<strong>

Days, weeks and then months had passed. Not only was the distance growing between the man who lied unconscious in the intensive care unit and the world of the living. Another gaping chasm was tearing apart the two people who loved said man the most. Their busy days were a bliss, whereas the evenings and nights were spent at House's alternated watch. When Wilson walked in, Cuddy would stand up and leave, exhaling an inaudible goodbye, without their gazes ever meeting. Nothing ever changed in that routine, which, if it wasn't exactly comforting, was at least succeeding in partially silencing the ever lingering sense of hopelessness and defeat everyone else involved in House's life was feeling at the moment. Only once, Cuddy and Wilson had been close to giving in: watching House's mother stand at her son's bedside without a tear elapsing from the corners of her eyes. Her composure, the dignity she was bearing in holding her child's hand, rubbing his forearm, had been a serious threat to their apparent detachment. Blythe had been sitting at House's bedside for hours, until she'd had to go back to the airport. There was no point in moving to Princeton, not at her age, not with her son being any closer to recovery than a month earlier or two later. She had left the room with a kiss on House's forehead and a soft 'goodbye, baby'. Her monthly calls had gotten shorter and shorter. She would come back for the Holidays, if it was fine for them.

The team had resumed working their weekly cases. Even without House's expertise, they were doing well enough for Cuddy to keep the Board funding the department for the first months after House's incident. Soon after the summer, though, Thirteen had announced she was resigning from her position as a fellow and from the medical profession. Her numbered days were worth enjoying and finding serenity, so she had left for Europe with her partner in a now fully established relationship. In the meantime, Foreman had taken up a significant part of Cuddy's workload to help her deal with House's state, and he had ended up being the person in charge of all the bureaucracy, sitting for her at board meetings and graduations. This had had an impact on his career, which had taken a leap: he was now officially employed as Assistant Dean, next in line for the position if Cuddy had ever decided to leave. With a smaller department on the payroll, funding hadn't been a problem anymore, neither for Cuddy nor for the Administration board. Chase and Taub were managing to keep it alive and their job was much appreciated by whoever knew whom they had been working under early-on.

Changes. A whole new set of them, with a constant: House's motionless body, frozen mind and soul. This is what Cuddy's life was like the night Wilson knocked at her door, soaked in november rain.

"Hi. Come on in, you're shaking." She let him in and silently closed the door, trying not to wake Rachel. Wilson hesitantly walked to the living room. He turned to her, biting his lower lip. Cuddy reached him and sat down on the couch. She tucked her feet up under her and pulled her hair back.

"Are you okay?"

Wilson lowered his stare.

"Yeah. Sure."

He finally took off his raincoat and held it in his hands, not quite knowing what to do with it. Something was feeling off. Cuddy could clearly perceive that, but she also realized she couldn't do anything about it. She wasn't at ease, and he wasn't either. That was the point they had reached. Eventually, Wilson seemed to recall why he was there. He placed the raincoat on the backrest of a dining chair and sat down on the couch, beside Cuddy. She found herself pulling back imperceptibly. Wilson cleared his throat.

"So. How've you been?"

She replied almost immediately.

"I'm fine. Busy. Thank god Foreman's there, he's a great help. The Board is a mess, we've got this new insurance company to deal with, and the whole issue is affecting the Clinic and how it's going to be run for the next two years..."

"Lisa."

"...I mean, it's crazy. They believe we're going to keep it running anyway, but I won't accept anything less than the most they can give us to do that."

"Lisa."

Wilson placed his hand over Cuddy's, blocking the gestures which she was accompanying her speech with.

"What." She whispered.

"I don't give a damn about those white collars. How are _you_ doing? How are _we_ doing?"

She pulled away and stood up.

"Look, I think you should go back to the hospital. If something happens while neither of us is there..." Her words were dry, emotionless.

"Nothing's gonna happen to him."

She dropped her arms.

"You should go."

Wilson stood up. This wasn't about the night shift. It never had been, and certainly it wasn't anymore.

"Say it. Just do it, it's fine. It is." He turned from her to hide the tears which for a second he couldn't restrain. "It doesn't matter anymore, I guess." He whispered.

Cuddy came closer. She placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to turn back to her.

"I am so sorry."

"Yeah, me too. Me too."

It was over. Wilson grabbed his raincoat from the chair and went for the door without even turning back to look at her one last time. There was nothing new, it was the natural course of the events. It was just what should happen: give it a week, and Cuddy and he would have been fine, as the old times. Friends as they always had been. None of this was of any consolation to him later on that night, when he tossed the wedding ring into the crispy waters of the lake, just outside the hospital.

Likewise, knowing that Cuddy and him would be all right again, that they would figure something out to get House's trust back, wasn't of any consolation to him four years later, while he was driving home in the fog and the rain of a very similar autumn. His bitter remark to Cuddy, her silent admission of guilt, and House's silence while he was walking out his room – but really he felt as if he had been walking out his life – kept haunting him on the way home.  
>It was a matter of seconds between his last image of Cuddy's and House's broken looks, and the couple of giant headlights flashing at him. He could hear the continuous sound of his horn being honked for ten long seconds, before his consciousness faded away.<p>

* * *

><p>an: if you can torture your characters, why not doing it? The important thing is how you walk through the fire (not mine, lol). I promise you everything will be all right. Or not. Thank you for the feedback, it's highly appreciated! For those who've been asking: timeline-wise everything works, just read carefully. Anyway, in case you're missing something, go back to the first chapter and check the author's notes where I put the timeline back when I first published the story: it should clarify any doubts.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Mistakes

* * *

><p>PPTH<p>

November 15th, 2017

6AM

–

"Wilson, please." Cuddy stood in front of her friend, arms folded, a concerned look in her eyes.

"No."

"House doesn't need to know it's about you." Foreman added. He took the chart from the footer of Wilson's ER bed and surfed through it, then shook his head, lost into his own thoughts.

"Are you sure?" He flashed a glance at Wilson, then stood up to go.

Wilson's face looked nowhere near doubtful.

"Yes. I'm sure."

Foreman and Cuddy exchanged looks. She turned back to Wilson.

"If this has anything to do with what happened..."

"It _doesn't_." He stated. "He's not ready and I'm not a medical mystery. I just crashed my car a week ago and I'm still a bit off."

Wilson sat back onto the pillows wedged behind his back. Neither of them replied. Foreman hooked the chart back onto the bed footer and walked away, muttering to himself. Cuddy inspired slowly, raising her stare up and then back down to her friend.

"You guys need to stop this." She announced. "It's a whole new level of absurd, having you two admitted here two floors apart. I'm sick of being worried for..." She dropped the joke as she saw Wilson's expression. She got closer, placed a hand on his forearm.

"I'm sorry. Look... I'm _so_ sorry."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not."

"I'll be out of here in no time. I'm sure it's nothing. I had a nasty flu a couple weeks ago. And I've been... _under pressure_, lately. I'm just tired."

"Sure. I hope so." Cuddy kissed him on the head and walked away at the sound of her beeper.

–

**One week earlier**

–

"Dude."

"..."

"_Dude_."

The trucker bent over slightly. He took off his baseball cap.

"You okay?"

Wilson sat still, his arms extended, hands clenched on the steering wheel, stare fixed ahead as if he was still on the road and the entire front section of his car still _existed_.

"What the hell happened." He whispered, without turning from his posture.

"You drove your car into my truck. Like, _straight_ into it."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Nothing happened. Wilson's hands slowly slid down to his lap.

"_How did this happen._"

"I don't have a fucking clue, man. I called an ambulance. Thought you were dead."

"I'm fine."

"Looks like it. Someone must love you up there." He pointed at the sky. "Truth is," He shook his head and walked away from Wilson, muttering to himself. "I crapped my pants. _Fuck_."

Wilson didn't reply. He sat back, closing his eyes.

–

"Wilson!" Cuddy pulled over beside the parked ambulance and jumped out of her car, her trench coat instantly soaked in rain. "Are you out of your mind?" She shrieked, running to him.

He was wrapped up in a thermal blanket, pale as she had never seen him, his left arm hooked to the BP appliance. She kneeled in front of him and threw a glance at the heart monitor. She pulled a flashlight from her right pocket.

"I'm fine." He grimaced in unpleasantness and turned his face from her, screening his eyes with his hands.

"Doctor Cuddy." A young paramedic in a ponytail crouched beside Wilson on the dock of the ambulance, directly facing Cuddy, who was still standing on the road in front of the open back doors. "We're taking him to the hospital for a CT scan. All seems fine though, he got lucky."

Cuddy's eyes filled with tears, but she swallowed the lump in her throat and brought both hands to her hips, turning to Wilson.

"What the hell were you thinking?" She pointed at Wilson's car, which was currently being _unstuck_ from a giant FedEX truck, whose driver was seated on the curb, holding his head with both hands, his astonished stare fixed to the dark nothingness of the night descending over Princeton. Cuddy turned back to her friend.

"For god's sake, Wilson... I thought you were dead." She whispered.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah... No, I mean, it's fine. It's... _Jesus_!" Cuddy brought a hand to her forehead and screwed her eyes closed for a second, then she spread her arms. "I'm just relieved you're all right. I lashed out."

"Yeah." He whispered.

Jane fixed the oxygen mask onto Wilson's face. "Lie still, doctor Wilson. We're almost ready."

"I'll be following you guys." Cuddy threw one last glance at her friend, then turned to her car.

"Cuddy."

She turned back to the ambulance. Wilson's concerned eyes betrayed his fake display of confidence.

"What. What is it?"

"I..." He swallowed and shifted the oxygen mask aside. "I think I had a seizure."

–

–

PPTH

November 15th

"It's been a week now. He's not showing any signs of head trauma and had one single, _alleged_ seizure." Foreman was pacing the floor. He stopped and raised his index finger. "One, Cuddy. One _alleged_ seizure. And we just spoke to him. He looks fine."

"What are you implying? That we should just send him home? Or that he's the doctor who can't recognize a seizure?"

"I'm not implying anything." Foreman sat down on the sofa. Taub and Chase were standing in front of Cuddy's desk, looking alternatively at their colleague and their boss. Chase's eyes flashed at Foreman for a second, then he addressed Cuddy in the most convincing tone he could produce.

"He might be right. Wilson reported that, but we weren't there to see and he hasn't showed any symptoms since then."

"_Doctor_ Wilson is not an idiot." Cuddy snorted. "If he said he had a seizure, I'm assuming he's perfectly capable of..."  
>"He is a <em>patient<em>." Taub dropped the file onto Cuddy's desk and crossed his arms. "We should treat him like one. He's out of the diagnostic process. If House..."

He quit talking, somehow realizing he had touched a sensible topic from the sight of Cuddy's lips tightening. He lowered his voice and went on anyhow. "Maybe we should... _ask_... Just before we send Wilson home, I mean. Just a consult."

"No. Doctor House is a patient here." Cuddy's look instantly reached Foreman as she spoke. She was tempted, too. But that was the worst possible idea. "We already discussed this. And you said we should treat patients as patients."

"So what do we do?" Chase splayed his arms. "You're the one saying there's a problem, but you don't want us to investigate."

"You wanted to send him home, _in the first place_." Cuddy remarked. "I _want_ to investigate. Just not by asking House."

They all went silent for a few minutes, browsing through Wilson's lab panels, spread all over Cuddy's desk.

"House _was_ that person. He's not anymore. He's..." She lowered her voice. "He's a brain damaged patient." She swallowed a lump in her throat.

The team exchanged looks.

"He is still House." Chase's voice wasn't much more than a whisper. "What do you think he'll do once he's out of here? Go hunting?"

"I... I don't think this is the topic of our discussion." Cuddy's words came out a bit too quickly for her to make her own tone look more confident.

"Chase is right. Not asking House means we don't think he's capable of handling a case." Foreman stood up and went for the desk, collecting the sheets.

"Is he?" Taub asked.

They all exchanged looks.

"He's not out of here yet. We don't know when he will be." Cuddy stood up, hands on her desk. "Hence, House is our patient, not our last resort. Go figure out what's wrong with Wilson. And keep _me_ posted, instead."

They all walked out.

Cuddy sat down, leaning against the backrest, her stare wandering pensively. House was her patient. Foreman's patient. Their patient, a patient of the hospital. Wilson was acting weird, he had been acting weird for the entire past week. He looked more tired than ever, and he was recovering from a pretty annoying case of flu when he had his accident. Plus, he hadn't spoken to House since the day of their confrontation, right before the car crash, and this had put his overall mood to the strains. He was depressed, and sad, and probably angry at House for always being the one people had to tiptoe around, to her for giving in to her innermost feelings and above all – and very likely, coming from him – angry at himself for not being able to protect all of them from the thunderstorm of the recent events.

They had had him admitted for one entire week without anything strange showing up in any of his tests. No one from the EMT and the ER could believe Wilson had walked out of his car on his own feet: everyone had treated his body with the utmost concern and care, one hundred percent sure that he had internal bleeding, or fractures that they were missing, or some head trauma whose symptoms could show up any time. Yet, no CAT scan, X-rays, orthopedic examination and neurological tests had shown anything off with Wilson's body.

–

"Nothing's wrong with you."

"Fine. I'm going home then."

Cuddy sat down beside Wilson's bed.

"You told me..."

"I know. But... I must have been wrong."

"I trust your judgement. I'm worried for you."

He inspired.

"Look, I had a horrible day after which I crashed my car into a... truck, or what was it? I was in shock."

"You told me you seized."

"I told you I thought I had something like... a spasm."

"You told me you seized."

"It was the closest I could get to the description. My brain wasn't exactly processing the right words at the time."

"Yeah... but that doesn't change anyth..."

"I must've fallen asleep, had a hypnic jerk, crashed the car. I was tired and a bit ill."

"I told the team to have a look."

"What team?" Wilson shook his head: he already knew the answer. "House's team?"

"House's team."

"For god's sake, Cuddy." Wilson snorted, turning his face from her for a moment. "You don't have anything better to do with them, do you?"

"All your tests came back fine..."

"...Which means I'm fine."

"No. You had a seizure. No results mean we need to look further."

"I told you, I... Uh." Wilson folded his arms, his stare piercing Cuddy's. "I know what you're doing here."

"What the hell are you talking about?" She stood up.

"You're trying to involve _him_ in this whole... thing."

"Oh, come on. I am not _that_ manipulative. I'm not House."

"Sure."

"Are you serious?" She tilted her head aside, screwing her eyes. "I'm worried for you. How could you think I..."

"Listen, Cuddy..." Wilson lowered his voice. "Listen." He sat up. "I know you feel guilty. I do too. We always try to... _handle_ him. We should have told him the truth since day one."

"What does this have to do with..."

"Listen. He's angry and disappointed that we lied to him. Plus, he's not... who he used to be."

"Here we go again. I've just had this same discussion."

"House is..." Wilson seemed to concentrate to find the exact word. "He's _wading_ his way back. Hardly."

"He's taking important steps. He's talking."

"He's talking. But slowly, and with a stutter."

"It's almost gone! It went away when he got interested in that woman in the clinic."

"Come on." Wilson raised a smile, trying to soft the bluntness. "These things don't just _go away_. You know this as well as I do. He's gonna have that for a long time. Maybe forever."

"I know."

"I know you do. And he's not moving much either. He can't walk properly, and he gets tired in an eye blink."

"Physical therapy takes time. He lied still for almost four years."

"Exactly. His muscles don't work, Cuddy."

"His brain does."

"How many brain damage survivors do you know?" Wilson tried to hide his own discomfort towards that topic. But he knew they couldn't go on forever avoiding it.

"Quite a few I guess. Former patients... Colleagues of mine's patients..."

"How many of them do as good as House does?"

"None."

"What can you extrapolate from this."

"That we are lucky."

"Exactly." Wilson sat back. "For a second I thought you were pulling the 'miracle' crap."

"It's... okay, it's an incredible recovery, at least." She smiled.

"It is. But we cannot keep our hopes higher than this."

"Why."

"Because he has proven so much to us already."

"He's still a genius."

"You don't know. Do you really think he could re-take his board certification exam _now_?"

"Don't tell me you still remember each bit of medical school."

"They don't ask _us_. He needs to show someone else that he does remember even the most insignificant footnote of each book and manual and paper they want him to remember." Wilson splayed his arms. "And I don't think his body and brain could handle that. He needs to get better. And..." His look saddened as he dropped his arms back onto the bed sheets. "He might not get better than _this_. Ever."

Cuddy couldn't help but agree. House could be like that forever. Slurred speech, wheelchair or walker, tired, needy. He could be forever bound to hospice care. He could never be able to go back to work, or have normal relationships in the outside world. Not to mention, as Wilson was wisely pointing out, being a doctor again. Saving people's lives. Making command decisions.

"This is unfair. He diagnosed a patient a month ago. It's all he has." She whispered.

"I know. But he's been in a coma. We thought he was about to die from pneumonia or something that stupid in a few years." Wilson stood up and went for his clothes in the small closet serving as a wardrobe.

"I kind of remember that. Where are you going?"

"Home."

Cuddy took Wilson's things from the bathroom. She walked back into the room and dropped them onto his bed. "I know no one would give him his license back before he goes through certification again. And you're gonna call me if anything feels off. Here's your stuff."

Wilson ignored her and went on.

"Why do we need to put House on this kind of trial? Why forcing him to worry for me, given that I'm fine?"

"I was worried for you. And I thought... I think House is still the best doctor we have."

"I know what you think. But this would be unnecessary and painful. Don't do this to him."

"You're still protecting him."

"I guess I am." Wilson slipped into his shirt and sweater. "For one last time."

"What are you talking about?" Cuddy placed Wilson's bag onto the bed and started throwing his things inside randomly. "What's your point?"

"What happened last week... Stop. I'll take care of it." He took his shampoo and shaving foam and put them into a side pouch. Cuddy stood back, arms folded. She couldn't believe Wilson thought what he thought.

"Come on! He'll be back in no time. He always is. _You'll_ be back in no time. You always are."

"Cuddy... this is serious. It's not like we can stitch the ends back together after something this big."

"But nothing happened! You told him the truth, everything's gonna be fine."

"How can you _not_ see it?" Wilson stopped packing. He stood still, gaze fixed into hers.

"See what."

"Friendships crack broken for things like these. Even if it's us."

"Things like what?"

"Things like _four years ago_. 'Ring any bell?"

"Wilson..." Cuddy seemed to realize the utter magnitude of Wilson's words. She came closer and placed a hand over his shoulder. "Things have changed from then. We went through so much."

Wilson turned back, the saddest expression shadowing his eyes.

"It doesn't change what he did, what _we_ did before. I can't see how we can pretend it never happened."

"We are not pretending... We thought it could work. Then it didn't."

"It's not like it didn't work." Wilson snorted. "_House_ happened. Again. Right when we were about to start over."

"You made up with him."

"Sort of. I made up with him, he choked his guilt to make up with me. We weren't exactly even. And you never really spoke to him again."

Cuddy didn't answer. She had spoken to him _once_. Two hours before he fell to the floor of the synagogue. That was when he had come clean to her. When he had tried to say sorry in his dysfunctional way, at the worst possible time to do so. But it was a purposeless apology: a real, regretful admission of fault on both parts without further motives. House wasn't trying to stop her or get her back. He didn't mention once how wrong her decision was. He had just come clean to her, unknowingly of his ill fated future. Somehow, she had forgiven him before he could utter his last word to her. But her life was on another path now. And that kiss never got through. Cuddy released a deep breath.

"Both of you would have gotten over it. The two of us, instead... We made a mistake. We should face it." She stated.

"Who knows. I didn't even get to prove you right by divorcing you." The corners of Wilson's lips turned slightly upwards. His smile was sincere, and his joke eased the tension.

"I thought... We could be happy." Cuddy's eyes filled with tears. "I didn't lie to you once about that." She placed a hand on his cheek. He reached it with his and took it.

"I know, or I wouldn't be here now. I'm not that masochist. You're my friend."

"Yeah... I just... Needed to tell you. I never got the chance."

"There was no need. We're fine."

"Why can't you... be fine with House, then?"

"Because..." Wilson shook his head sadly. "Because what happened was real. Our intentions..." He left Cuddy's hand and took his bag. "Our regrets, or how wrong we were... it doesn't make it less real. I betrayed his feelings."

"Come on... It's no one's fault. We made mistakes. Everything was difficult."

"He took one pill because he was afraid you could die. First mistake. You dumped him over _one_ pill, acting selfishly for what, the first time in your entire relationship with him? You weren't wrong, Cuddy." Wilson shook his head. "But House is not a regular guy: he's over the top. With everything, and in both ways. You acted like he was just unworthy of your trust, whereas he was devastated he could lose you."

"I thought about that for a thousand times. I was trying to stand up for myself. Don't act as if I didn't care about him."

"It looked like you didn't know him. He never got past it. He went to jail because he's a reckless son of a bitch. Third, big, huge mistake."

"I know..."

"...Meanwhile, I decided you were the person I had to be with, and seemingly you fell into my arms with the same hope I had about our future. Another nice idea. Half a year after what happened with House... We were together. Why?" He zipped his bag and began pacing the room.

"Wilson..."

"...Because we were hurt, and seeking for comfort in each other... If it had been true love, we would've gotten married anyhow, at a certain point."

"I know this, it's _fine_..."

Wilson went on inexorably. "If it had been true love, like you love House..." He lowered his voice. "I wouldn't regret now what we did to him back then. But we just hurt him, Cuddy. In the worst way possible. He had only us."

"I had sworn I'd never be in the same room with him again. He didn't have _us_ anymore."

Wilson quit pacing and turned back to her.

"But he had _me_. And he came home to me being with _you_. Asking him to stand with me at our wedding. Nothing is ever going to change that. So yes, each of us made a mistake at one point. There's no fixing it."

"He needs you in his life."

"I know."

"So your whole point here does not make any..."

"...My point is: it's over. House and I. We're over."

Wilson walked out.

* * *

><p>AN - What the fudge? I haven't updated since november 30th? I'm so very sorry. Time flew by, plus I've been experiencing a major case of writer's block while my vidding muse went totally nuts. I had this chapter sketched but it wasn't worth writing and publishing if I wasn't inspired. It would have shown... It always does. One need one's heart to be into what one writes! :) BTW: it's all planned. Again, some time might pass but I know exactly what is going to happen and I'm too OCD to leave the story unfinished: this goes to all who PMed me about moving my lazy butt :P . Spoilers for next chapter(s): Hilson is gonna stay apart for some time. The two are too stubborn and f*ed up. But then something (else) happens... Which changes everything. Plus, House will decide he's too awesome for giving up medicine.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Help Me

* * *

><p>PPTH<br>November 20th

House was awake, apparently lost in his thoughts while staring fixedly out the window. Cuddy wondered if he was really seeing the leaves whirling about in the autumn breeze, covering up the park in a warm-nuanced, soft blanket. Someone had helped him into the wheelchair, wedged pillows underneath his legs and pushed him up to the window, where he was now, a woolen blanket pulled up to his chin. Of course, and as always, he sensed Cuddy's presence behind him and threw a glance back at where she stood.

"Would you p-please stop l-lurking like this? You s-scared me."

She lowered her stare, a shy smile curving her lips.

"I wasn't lurking."

"Liar. I c-could have died. My heart's n-not the same any-m-more." He was trying to sound harsh, but his eyes betrayed him: he was flashing his secret smile at her. All of a sudden, Cuddy's blood ran warmer. How many years had passed since the last time she had been gifted with House's secret smile? She couldn't even remember. He threw aside the woolen blanket covering his legs and turned the wheelchair.

"W-what do you want? C-case?"

"House..." She avoided eye-contact with him. "There is no case..."

"I c-can always t-tell."

"Tell what?"

"When you're l...l-_lying_."

"I'm not lying. You're not ready for work."

"W-Who says that."

"House, for god's sake!" Cuddy turned from him, hands on her hips. Then, she flipped her hair and bent over, hands on the armrests of House's wheelchair.

"Please. You need to get better first. Your speech is almost back to where it was a month ago. What happened last week... to _us_..." She turned from him for a moment, then went ahead. "...What happened to you and Wilson..."

"I..." House's breath got faster. "I c-can't..."

"I'm sorry we lied to you. That was... unfair. We just wanted to protect you."

"I w-wasn't t-trying... trying t-to... kill m-myself. I'm s-so... I'm so..." House's frantic words were fighting against his close-range breaths. He was too stressed, too sensitive to the world around him. He had been shut away from it for too long. He would need time to cope with the overload of emotions he had just gotten back.

"Hey..." Cuddy kneeled in front of him, squeezing his hand in hers. "Relax. Breathe in, slowly."

He was sweating, as he had blanched all of a sudden. Cuddy threw a glance at the nurse's button, which wasn't close enough for her to reach without leaving House's hand. She hoped she wouldn't have to use it.

"P-please..." House exhaled, throatily. "I... I d-don't..."

"House, listen to me. Will you listen to me?" Cuddy took his cheeks in her hands as she fixed her stare into his, articulating every word with the utmost calm. "Don't seize on me. Don't code. Don't crash. Please."

He raised a weary smile, as his breath got slower.

"Things _will_ get better."

"You d-don't know."

"Okay, look at me. Look at me, House. _Touch me_."

He tried to collect himself, as he shakily lifted his hands and grabbed her forearms. That seemed to calm down the spasms shaking his body.

"See? This is me, I'm alive, you're alive. You're not alone anymore, you're _back_." Cuddy nodded. "You're out of it. Forever." She repeated. "I'm... _real_."

"You w-went away." He panted.

"I know." Cuddy's expression, the look in her eyes, the curve of her lips, the sweetness which she was infusing her words with, all of that was there to tell him everything would be all right. "And House... I swear to you..."

"D-don't."

But she ignored him. She had never seized the moment with him but once. All the other decisions she had made about the two of them were the fruit of a night's sleep lost forever, except from one single time: when she had decided she was stuck with her love for him, in spite of her own denial and how screwed up and hopeless he was, _that_ had been a spark she had followed without further reasoning. Everything else about them – the tragedy of their irremediably horrendous timing, and their mistakes and wrong turns – all of that was the result of her trying to overcome their destiny and plan things ahead, making justice to her nature, to her need to be in control of everything.

"...I swear to you that I am sorry and I wish I could take it all back." The words just leaked out one by one, incontrollably.

"It's d-done."

"I know. You told Wilson already. He told me."

"N-never trust the g-guy with a t-thing." House tried to joke. His uncertain smile made Cuddy even more certain that it was their moment indeed.

"I'm sorry, House. I'm sorry for what happened..." She whispered.

"Me t-too." House's eyes got misty and bright. "I f-fucked up. I always d-do."

"Yeah. You could've saved me a lot of pain." She joked. "I wonder how important that hairbrush must've been to you."

"I have my f-fetishes."

"For god's sake... I don't even want to know."

"Cuddy."

"Yes?"

"I d-don't deserve it."

"What?"

"To be f-friends. With you. W-Wilson."

"Stop the self-loathing."

"You k-keep... f-for-_forgiving_ me."

"House..." She shook her head. "Wilson will come back. And... I am sick of being angry. It's been years. I'm not that resilient."

"You t-think I c-could–"

"I said _shut up_." Cuddy got to her feet. "I know where this is going and we've already had this conversation. I don't know if you can fix yourself." She began pacing the floor.

"..."

"_I don't know_. Fine? I don't have a f...– I don't know, House." Her voice trembled as she turned back to face him. "I really don't. And I guess I'm the same. I just _screw up_. At one point, I always do." She bit her lower lip.

House kept his stare fixed into hers for a few seconds, then he grabbed the armrests, reaching for the floor with his left foot.

"Help me."

"What the hell are you doing?" Cuddy leaned forward, picking him up before he slid down. Panting, they found themselves standing, once again close.

"S-stay with me."

"_Again_, it's not like I can go anywhere."

"Please."

Cuddy knew very well what House meant.

"Fine." She replied firmly. "Whatever crap you put me through," The tears burning in her eyes were fighting against the smile blooming on her lips. "I seem to be able to make you suffer the same."

She lifted a hand up to his cheek.

"So I guess we can keep... getting even." She exhaled. "_Together_."

House's smile lit up the room. Something was changing. Or maybe it wasn't. It had always been there.

"It never went away." He whispered, finishing his thought aloud, gaze fixed into hers.

Cuddy raised her brow, puzzled. "What, what is it that never went away?"

"I always wanna d-do you. And by _do_, I mean _f_–..."

"Okay, fine. _Fine_, it's your secret. I get it."

"That's w-what I r-really meant."

"All right, House... just _save your breath_, for god's sake."

House seemed to give up for a moment. But then he didn't.

"Wanna m-make out?"

"I can't wait."

And they kissed. Like it was their very last day on earth. Then, they stood for endless minutes into each other's embrace, savoring their long-fought, newly-found proximity: Cuddy and House, like they were meant to be: filling each other's voids.

By the time she stood up to leave, House was asleep in his bed, hooked up to the heart monitor quietly beeping in the background. Cuddy bent over to plant a kiss on his forehead. He grabbed her wrist as she was walking away, startling her back to his bedside.

"C-Cuddy."

"Yeah."

"I d-don't... want..." He couldn't go on.

She leaned forward, heartbroken at his helplessness.

"I'm here. Just take your time." She whispered.

"I d-don't want to b-be... l-like..."

"House..."

"..._Like_ _t-this_."

Cuddy's lips tightened as she tried to collect herself in front of House.

"It's gonna be all right." She squeezed his hand into hers, trying to convey all of her love and confidence into that simple touch.

"I– I w-want to get b-better."

"You will. I promise."

She kissed him again, then she went for the door as fast as she could. When she was outside, she leaned back against the wall and raised her stare up to the ceiling, holding out a long sigh before she could catch her breath again.

Few seconds later, her cellphone rang, startling her. She picked it up from the left pocket of her tight suit jacket.

"Hey."

"Hi. Look, I'm sure it's nothing, but..."

Wilson wasn't just so _not_ good at hiding things from her.

* * *

><p>AN Huddy people, say hello to your ship. This chapter is named Help Me as a homage to 6x22, because the whole scene was planned to strongly resemble that of May 17 2010. It's up to you to elaborate on this and find the clues. :) And yes, Wilson is sick. And no, I'm not telling you if he's going to live or not. Just... remember that I'm not always an evil cunning person and I strongly believe that everything happens for a reason. Can't wait to know what you think of this chapter (which is short, I know!). :)


	17. Chapter 17

a/n: look who's back. I swear I'm gonna finish this up before the Mayan calendar runs out of days, it's all planned despite my recent writer's block.

**QUICK RECAP: House was in jail the summer after the s7 finale. W/Cu hooked up out of despair and loneliness and when H came back he found out he had lost them possibly forever. But then he made up with W as he always does, and he agreed to be his best man at his and Cuddy's wedding (!), despite this destroying him from the inside. The pain got progressively worse and eventually took over, and the leg wasn't House's problem anymore when he decided to drink his way to the wedding along with a dose of opioids that led his body to a point of no return. The overdose got him into a state of non responsiveness which lasted for three years, W and Cu having to live with the guilt and the certainty that H was trying to kill himself, when in fact he wasn't. Their relationship eventually failed and they went back to being friends after some drama. Then, one morning, House blinked awake. They couldn't believe he was still hanging on in there, but in fact his minimally conscious state was now over, and H was slowly coming back to life when he found out that W and Cu had decided not to tell him the circumstances surrounding his incident, which he didn't remember clearly. When he found out he had overdosed at their very wedding, a huge fight followed in which H cut W out of his life, out of anger, guilt, shame and some other nice and comforting feelings. Then W had a car accident, and reported having a seizure just before crashing his Volvo into a truck. But eventually he looked just fine, so he was released; until Cuddy got a phone call from the ER, right after swearing eternal love to House.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 17<strong>

_Something borrowed, something new_

–

November 27th, 2017

–

_Don't die, Wilson. This is not how it works between us. Don't die on me like this, or I swear I won't be your friend anymore. Let me figure this out and then you can find another way to pay me back for everything I've done to you. Just hang onto whatever crap you believe in. I've never thought we'd come to this, but I'm telling you: if you die, I will never forgive you. Do you understand? Is there any part of this which isn't clear to you? I need you here. I will solve this. I promise I will. Just don't. Die._

House tied his head back and closed his eyes, trying to let his thoughts float freely. Trying to find the light.

–

**One week earlier**

–

"Hold still." Cuddy whispered gently.

"I can't..." Wilson hissed through his gritted teeth. He was lying on a bed in the ER, hands gripping the edge of the mattress in order to control the spasms jolting his limbs and abdomen up and down in an irregular, frightening fashion. He was trying to stay calm and talk to them, but terror was starting to win him over, and he knew it wouldn't be long until he surrendered to it.

"What the hell is going on..." He stammered throatily.

Foreman hung Wilson's chart onto the bed footer.

"This is for us to figure out. You just... don't panic. I'm ordering a CT scan." He declared, before disappearing behind the pulled bed curtains.

Cuddy and Wilson were left alone in that small, confined space. She sat down beside him and threw a concerned glance at his heart monitor, then lowering her stare down to her friend."You should've said something before we came to this." She was trying to sound detached, but the truth was that she was terrified by each and every possible cause of that sudden turn Wilson's health had taken. He looked up at her, squinting his eyes.

"Does he know?"

Cuddy looked like she had just awoken from a weird, unsettling dream.

"No."

"That's... uh." Wilson tightened his lips, throwing his head back, squeezing the blanket with all his strength. In a couple seconds, it was over once again. "That's good."

Cuddy's thoughts traveled all the way upstairs, where she pictured Foreman battling his way up the reservation list for the CT scan. She flashed a glance at her watch. Foreman had been gone for ten minutes already, where the hell was he? She stood up.

"Listen, there's no way House is going to know anything about this. You'll be fine and back on your feet before he notices you're not answering the phone. I promise."

Wilson raised his brow.

"We haven't been talking since the day of my accident. There's no way he's going to call me."

Cuddy joined her hands as she attempted a smile. She didn't need a mirror to realize how fake and sad that must look.

"Even better then. He's not going to find out whatsoever."

_Until I tell him_.

She grabbed one end of the curtain and pushed it aside.

"I'm gonna check on Foreman. Just relax until the muscle relaxant does its job. I'll be right back."

–

"Foreman!" Cuddy called, thirty feet through the hallway. He turned back and approached her, holding Wilson's paperwork for the scan.

"I booked it, we're gonna have him scanned later this afternoon. How's he doing?"

"Spasming."

"That we knew already." Foreman muttered, rubbing his chin. "What the hell is going on with him..."

"I hope this is rhetorical. You're the neurologist, here." Cuddy sharply remarked.

"Yeah."

They stood silent for a couple minutes, Foreman surfing through the sheets, Cuddy leaned back against the wall, hands behind her back.

"We need to tell House." Foreman whispered.

Cuddy stood up.

"W-what?" She stammered.

Foreman folded his arms on his chest, piercing Cuddy with one glance.

"How do you expect him to find out? Nurse talk?"

"I _don't_ expect him to find out." She declared.

Foreman lowered his stare, pensive.

"Listen. I was the one telling you House was not to be brought into this."

"I'm sorry, I don't remember." Cuddy replied sarcastically. Foreman ignored her punch-line and went on.

"I'm not saying I'm dropping this case on him."

"Then why are you doing this? For the record?" She asked, a half-hearted smile curving upwards the corner of her lips.

"It's weird. He's having myoclonus with no other neurological symptoms. It's just... I need to discuss this with the team and then... I'm telling House."

"I still don't get why." Cuddy shook her head. "This is going to make him feel worse than he is already. They had a fight and if anything happens while they're not talking to each other..."

"Cuddy." Foreman interrupted her. "Look, it's not like _nothing will happen to Wilson_ as long as we _don't_ tell House. What if..." He lowered his voice. "What if something _does_ happen and House doesn't know we were treating his best friend?"

"Oh is he?" Cuddy muttered.

"I don't know what the hell happened between them, though I can imagine." Foreman's voice sounded low, but determined to win the argument. "This is none of my business, but... you knew he was going to find out sooner or later."

"You're right," Cuddy spread her arms. "This is none of your business."

"...But I'm _not_ withholding information from my boss about his best friend's condition."

"_I am_ your boss." Cuddy raised her brow.

"Yeah, I know. House is, too. He's never ceased." Foreman whispered.

"I see." She exhaled.

"Look, I'm ddx'ing Wilson with the team and _then,_ I'm telling House that his friend is sick, and if he feels up to it, we will hear what he has to say about it." Foreman folded the scan sheet and slipped it into his pocket. "And if you want to fire me for disobeying your orders, please help yourself. You can't screw this up more than you did already." He raised his hands. "Hope I'll see you in the conference room."

That said, he walked away.

Cuddy stood alone in the deserted hallway. What she had told them few days earlier, that they should ask House for a consult, that it would make him feel good about himself and that it would help _them_ because a sick House was still better than a healthy average diagnostician, all that had faded away at the thought of House being crushed by the news of his only friend being scanned for whatever crap was provoking his whole body to jolt in uncontrollable spasms. For, in all honesty, none of the possible causes of that was comforting for anyone, let alone the prognosis. Yet, Cuddy felt like she wouldn't be able to walk into House's room again, in case she withheld the information from him, after promising that they would try to overcome their old habits, the same ones that had doomed their relationship in the past. And tip-toeing around him was one of them.

_So, is this what change means? Am I worsening my patient's condition by revealing to him news that he might not be able to deal with?_

Cuddy needed to take a seat. As she fell down to the nearest couch in the waiting room for the CT scan area, she realized the utter unfairness of her position, and how much she'd use "a Wilson" right now: she knew very well now how much better it would be if House had been just another patient; how easy it would be to stick with the decision not to bring him into this. House wasn't a doctor anymore. He was a patient whose body had undergone years of inactivity, whose preserved cognitive abilities _alone_ were already a miracle, without any need for testing how much of his genius still remained by asking him to take the life of his best friend in his own hands. And yet, telling him that Wilson was sick was one thing with having him in the case. Being that House was who he was – and Cuddy had to swallow a lump in her throat realizing that she could still say so after what he had gone through... Well, there was just no way he would stay out of it.

_Better be sooner than later. Better be now than when something happens. _

Of all things, Cuddy had a foreboding feeling that something was very wrong with Wilson, and that they needed to find out what before she had to break even worse news to her _other_ patient.

–

Fourth floor

Room 221

–

House exhaled loudly as Wilson's voicemail greeted him cheerfully.

"Hi, this is doctor James Wilson. I can't take your call at the moment, so please leave a message or try my office landline. Thank you!"

"Yeah, t-thank _you_, Wilson." House tried to focus on the words one by one, feeling breathless at the mere idea of finding them, if not uttering them without the stutter. "Where are you? I'm..." He swallowed air.

_This needs to come out right._

"I'm s-s..."  
><em>Oh, fuck.<em>

"I'm sorry."

This. He was sorry. Deeply and utterly. He was lonely, and he was feeling exhausted by the continuous, purposeless whirl of angry thoughts battling with guilty nuances and flashes of helplessness. Cuddy was right: she and Wilson had found comfort in each other when he was emotionally and physically out of reach for both of them. He was in jail and he had gotten there after this sudden, deep transformation he had gone through. They had taken him away at a time when he was impossible, locked into himself like a desperate fool, with no way of being dealt with: Wilson's patience hadn't worked, Cuddy's _lassez__-__faire_ had worked even less. He was lost to them and only now he understood this had been hurting them back then as much as it was hurting him now.

They weren't happy to have him, House, out of their lives. They were seeking comfort for a loss they had experienced: the most incredible man she had ever known had become dangerous and vengeful and no matter how bad she had hurt him, or how sorry she was and how much she longed for a new start. Cuddy did not want to go down that road again. She wanted House out of her life despite this destroying her from the inside. And Wilson had realized he needed time on his own. Time to think about his choice: because the more he reflected upon it, the more he was convinced that this time he really needed to choose sides, and that the side would be that of Cuddy. Before House's anguish-driven vendetta, Wilson was blaming her for not giving him the benefit of the doubt, for leaving him over one pill, taken out of despair and the certainty that she was dead. But at the time of House being thrown in jail, Wilson was no more on his ex-best friend's side. House's actions had made the decision for Wilson: choosing sides implied the sacrifice of their friendship in order to defend a greater good, that of Wilson's principle that mistakes like that were fatal to any kind of relationship.  
>Wilson and Cuddy had therefore choked their pain of losing House, and they had found that they could get to be happy again, together. Until it had gotten clear that their foundations weren't made of the right stuff, the stuff of love.<p>

House didn't find it hard to imagine how stupid Wilson must have felt when it had gotten clear that him being with Cuddy was a bad idea and an even worse implementation of this perfect algorithm he could visualize so easily in his mind. This made even more clear to House himself why Wilson had not had the heart to clear it with him once he had come back in his life: as everyone, Wilson was not very prone to talk about that hugely wrong turn his life had taken, and House being basically back from the dead was big enough to be taken care of _alone_, without adding to the drama. House being clueless was the ideal, serendipitous complement to the burial of any memories of the times Wilson and Cuddy had thought they could be a couple, a family. Their behavior wasn't an attempt at burying their own dirty secret, something they were ashamed of. On the contrary, House realized: their almost casual forgetfulness of mentioning anything about the circumstances surrounding his life before he had the overdose was an attempt to help him erase and rewind his life. And since in no way they could turn the watch counter-clockwise for real, they had tried to live as the only keepers of that incredibly heavy, bulky secret. Again, they had sacrificed themselves to help him get back on his feet. Their only mistake was the excessive tip-toeing around their friend: another kind of behavior of which they had a history, when it came to House. And were they wrong, in all honesty? In the end, when he had blinked awake in that room, with no ability to talk, move or any other means of communication besides the blinking of his eyelids, neither Wilson nor Cuddy could know how bad in a shape he was, emotionally more than physically. They had been over their failed relationship for years when House had woken up from the coma: was it really the case to bring it all up again with this miracle patient and friend of theirs, the person they thought they had lost and then got back one random summer day? He needed them now more than ever, and even though House thought they might have been a little selfish in that, they both needed, _wanted_ him back as well.

All that had followed was part of a new life, the life he was wasting in a hospital instead of getting his old self back... but did he really wanted that old self back? Almost at the same time, House realized the answer to that question was of the utmost importance, and that he didn't have it. He wanted to get out of that room without a walker or a wheelchair; he wanted to get his biceps back, he wanted to look fine and in good shape, and not thin and pale as he actually did. He wanted to have something to think about, something to keep him up at night, something to eat away at his brain in the good old way it used to: he wanted his genius back. He wanted to be able to stand up and kiss Cuddy like it was nobody's business, with no need for her to check his heart monitor every other second. That he wanted. So, maybe he knew the answer to his question, at least in part. But first of all, he wanted Wilson to answer the goddamn phone, which was something the man wasn't clearly feeling up to, or hadn't been for a couple days at least. He needed to utter the words that had been whirling about in his head since the day of the fight, which was also the very last day he had spoken to him. That was the first step towards taking his life into his own hands and shape it into something half borrowed from the past, half new from scratch.

In the meantime, the voicemail got silent and the line was cut.

_Damn, I wasted all my time thinking._


	18. Chapter 18 - Epilogue

**Chapter 18**

Trial By Fire

_Wake me up when it's all over.  
><em>_When I'm wiser,  
><em>_when I'm older._

* * *

><p>"So t-that's why he w-w-wouldn't answer his p-phone."<p>

"I'm sorry." Foreman sat down at House's bedside. "I'm sorry we kept this from you last week."

"Does Cuddy know about m-me?"

"No."

"She just wants to protect you." Chase added.

House did not reply to that. For awhile, he pondered the pros of his involvement in Wilson's diagnosis.

"Cuddy is r-r-right." He then whispered, more to himself than to Foreman and the team. "I c-can't do this. I can't."

"I don't think that's what she meant when we talked about it." Taub replied. "She doesn't want you to carry this kind of responsibility."

"It's n-not that." House's stare darkened. "I don't t-trust my own judgement. I'm c-comp-c-com-promised."

"How do you know." Foreman stood up. "I am your neurologist. I scanned your brain a thousand times. I tested your memory, attention, executive functions... You can't walk, so what? You need help holding things, so what? _You _are here, it's all that matters. You performed great on any tests that didn't involve motor control. You were lucky enough..." He pierced House right through with his stare. "You were lucky enough to have your rational mind spared, or healed... whatever, House." He spread his arms open. "I trust you. We all do. We're just asking for a consult."

"You m-must be s-s-so in the d-dark." House joked.

But Foreman was serious.

"Wilson is sick, and we don't know why. Radiology is gonna give us the MRI scans back in half an hour. Do you think you can join us?"

House sat back against the headboard. He felt broken and alone. All the joy of his reunion with Cuddy had been sucked into the pain of losing Wilson, the vortex of bitter words that had elapsed from the lips of both, the abyss of silence that had followed and now the possibility of being parted forever. But there was no way he could trust himself at the present moment. The team would never distrust his medical advice, because they still believed this sickly version of House had a better chance than any of them at saving Wilson's life. He perceived their request as harbored by his own incredible recovery: they were so amazed at having him back as they thought he used to be, that they were convinced his medical judgement was still the same. And there was no way he could know that his mental capacity was, indeed, untouched when it came to diagnosing. That very moment, House realized he could go on forever with being bedridden, but was crushed by what he believed to be the loss of his only source of excitement and purpose in life. His benign addiction... His only addiction, now.

"I'm s-sorry." He whispered to the surrounding, awaiting silence. "I'm s-so sorry."

Foreman, Chase and Taub stood up. Upon leaving Taub turned back to House, one last time.

"We'll keep you pos..."

"Don't."

* * *

><p>Conference Room<br>November, 28th  
>-<p>

"Wilson is leaving. A.M.A." Taub dashed in, slamming Wilson's patient file onto the glass table.

"Are you kidding me?" Chase put the coffee cup he was washing back in the sink and came back to his chair. He leaned against the backrest. "Why would he do that?"

"He doesn't want House in on the case." Taub rubbed his forehead, resigned. "He told Cuddy, and Cuddy told me. And then he said he was leaving."

"House said no." Foreman stood up. "There is nothing for Wilson to worry about."

They sat in silence until Chase's words broke their awkwardness.

"We asked House, already." He admitted. "Chance was he'd say no. But Wilson is right. We tried to involve him and he clearly doesn't want th..."

"Why does he always have to protect him?" Taub stood up and went for the door. "He's being an idiot, risking his life just to keep House out of it. I'm gonna get the MRI scans now." He walked out. "Whatever crap Wilson pulls." His voice faded away as he marched to the elevators.

Foreman and Chase exchanged looks.

"Why the myoclonus, then?"

"Ask Princeton General, that's where he's going to be in two hours."

"I can't believe it." Cuddy combed her curls back with her fingers, pacing the floor of her study, more incredulous than angry. "How did you even think of going behind my back with this?" She leaned back against the bookshelf, holding out a sigh. "As if Wilson's crazy symptoms weren't enough." She whispered.

Taub and Chase stood in silence, lips tightened, arms crossed on their chests.

"I made the decision." Foreman walked in, slamming the door closed. "This doesn't have anything to do with Wilson leaving. He doesn't even know we asked House for a consult. He wants to leave because he's being an idiot."

"This is not the point." Cuddy tiredly sat down at her desk. "The point being – obviously -" She highlighted her last word, "...that you involved a patient in a case."

"It's House."

"There's a conflict."

"Come on. He's the best doctor we have." Foreman shook his head.

"He is a patient."

"We gave him a choice to be in on the case. He refused."

"What if he'd said yes?" Cuddy asked, raising her brow. "What if he changes his mind tomorrow and wants in on the case?"

"He needed to know that his friend is sick." Foreman remarked.

"Wilson didn't want that."

"Wilson is an idiot. And House too." Taub spread his arms. "We need to do something now."

"House in a very delicate situation. And Wilson is our patient too. We must protect both. We can't go against Wilson's will if he wants this to be kept from House."

"Wilson is leaving. There's gonna be no more will to respect." Chase noted.

They stood in silence for awhile. Then Cuddy grabbed her laptop and went for the door.

The three men all turned to her.

"Where are you going now?" Foreman asked.

"DDXing Wilson. Thanks to you three."

–

"Here." Cuddy slammed the shiny MacBook onto House's bedside table and turned it to him. "What do you see."

"An anatomical, T1-weighted, s-sagittal MRI s-sc-scan of someone's b-brain." He replied flatly.

"House," Cuddy sat down on the edge of the mattress and placed a hand on House's lap. "Please."

"I t-told th-them. I c-can't." House whispered.

"You can't, or you won't?"

"H-how b-bad..."

"Bad. Intermittent myoclonic seizures. Vomiting. Motor deterioration."

House sat silently through the news. Was he really looking at Wilson's premature death on that laptop screen?

"T-there's n-no tumor t-there." He declared.

"There isn't." Cuddy whispered. "Listen," She took his hand in hers. "I don't want to see you get old in this room." Her eyes filled with tears.

"P-please... don't..."

"No, you listen." She pierced him right-through with her stare. "Something is holding you back. And... it shouldn't."

House raised his stare up to the ceiling to hide the mist covering his blue irises.

"I c-can't t-take t-this. I'm b-broken." He whispered.

"Wilson is sick... and the team trusts you. Even though," She released a hollow laugh. "Even though I could damn well lose my license over this, I have scolded them enough for involving you."

"They c-can d-do it. They're g-good."

"I know. But it's not for them. They're right: you need this. And I want you in because," She smiled, this time with the utmost sincerity. "Because I pray to God nothing bad happens to Wilson, but I'm here now and _you are here too_, and you're not gonna be alone in this. I want you to exercise your mind, and be worried, and be in it." She swallowed a bout of tears. "You need this. Wilson needs this."

"I'm... I'm sc-scared." House lowered his stare, his voice almost inaudible.

"Me too." Cuddy ran her fingers through House's hair, caressing his forehead and cheeks. She kissed him on the lips, lightly. "Look at these scans, House. Please."

And then, House felt the usual chill, the familiar stinging excitement, the solution to the puzzle wanting out from the abyss of his high-functioning cortical pathways. Four years had passed since he had last crossed that threshold, and his whole life had changed. All he wanted was to save Wilson, to know what was wrong with his friend's body. House didn't know how to link the two, but he wanted both, for different reasons.

_I need this in my life._

_–_

"Here." Chase turned on a gigantic LCD screen hanging from the side wall of the conference room. Immediately, four squared windows appeared, each containing a different view on the insides of Wilson's head. House raised his brow.

"I s-see you have lived up to my expectations." He noted.

Chase and Taub exchanged amused looks. Foreman walked up to the screen and pointed his index finger at the top-left image.

"This cost us six months of clinic rotation." He added casually. "Here is Wilson's CT scan immediately following the accident." He enlarged the picture with a pinch of his fingers on the screen. "It's clear."

"And yet, the j-jerks." House's lips tightened. "Why."

"He went home and came back a few days later because of those." Chase surfed through the patient file. "He's been having intermittent myoclonic seizures since then."

"The scan is clear." Taub remarked. "He had a mild concussion from the accident, but the tissue looks isotonic."

House sat back into the wheelchair, silent. Nobody dared turn to him but the whole room was fibrillating in a mute, tense wait. And then his voice broke the silence.

"_He's bleeding into his brain._"

Nobody replied.

"Show m-me the s-second scan."

Taub's fingers hovered on the LCD screen and the pictures changed to a new, sharper view of Wilson's brain.

"This is the MRI from yesterday. Six days post-trauma. Still clear."

Chase stood up and went for the screen, pointing at it with his biro pen. "There's no visible contusion and no laceration. The pia mater is intact." He pointed at the thick, white contour enclosing Wilson's brain tissues. "There's no bleeding here."

"The seizures can be a symptom of post-concussion syndrome." Foreman added. "It's the easiest explanation."

"They've gotten worse overtime." Chase noted. "And his motor and visual systems are deteriorating too."

"How's the ADH?" Hose asked, eyes fixed into the screen.

Foreman handed him the blood panels. "Increased."

"Vasopressin and Oxytocin?"

"Increased as well."

House's eyes surfed through the numbers on the paper sheet. Their meaning was there for him to disclose. All he had feared was to be blind to them, but they were talking to him now, and he felt like he was truly, really rising from the dead.

"He's b-bleeding. He m-must b-be." He whispered to himself.

"The truck pulled over just in time, the impact..." Chase spread his arms. "It wasn't _that_ hard."

"Chase is right. If there was a sign of contusion we could have watched for a haemorragic progression. But there weren't any. Nor last week, nor now."

House's stare could set the room on fire. The team exchanged looks.

"Rule-outs." He declared. "Neoplastic disorder. G-go."  
>"Brain scans are clear." Foreman noted.<p>

"Psychogenic."

"Glucose, cortisol, B6... all normal. And," Chase crossed the words on the whiteboard. "He's not showing any behavioral changes."

"Exercise, overwork..."

"Glucose levels should be altered."

"Nothing developmental, clearly." Foreman added. "He has never experienced seizures and has no familiar history of epilepsy."

"Drugs. Poisoning."

"Seriously?" Chase raised his brow. "Tox screen came back negative, anyway."

Then, everybody's pagers went off.

–

"Doctor Cuddy. He's not breathing." A young nurse with braided hair pulled Wilson's head back, keeping his neck firm with her fingers. "We need to intubate him."

"Come on, come on, come _on_..." Cuddy's gloved fingers felt frozen and stiff as she tried to penetrate her friend's throat with the tube. "He's shut. We need a thinner tube."

Chase came closer. "I can take over, come on."

"I said _we need a thinner tube_." She swallowed a lump of terror: trying not to panic she ended up making it into Wilson's airways. "Got it. Got it. I'm in. Leave the tube."

They stepped aside to have a look at the monitors.

"O-two sats rising." Taub turned off the alarm and the room got quieter.

Cuddy firmed the bands holding the tube in Wilson's mouth.

"What the hell is happening to him."

They all turned to the window with a view on the hallway from the ICU area. Through the glass, House's blue irises glared at them for a few seconds. Then, he laboriously turned his wheelchair and rolled away.

–

"You can't leave." Cuddy sat at Wilson's bedside. "It's too dangerous to move you now."

He flashed her the saddest glance.  
>"You're on anticonvulsants for the seizures but we don't know what's causing them and why you stopped breathing this morning." Foreman added. "Stay. <em>Please<em>."

"Okay. _Okay_." Wilson whispered. "What's in the MRI?" He exhaled and then put the oxygen mask back on his mouth and nose, breathing in heavily.  
>"It looks clear." Cuddy's lips tightened.<p>

"Don't... don't lie to me, please." He looked up at her and saw it in her eyes. They weren't lying to him: they didn't know. That very moment, Wilson knew the helplessness he had experienced back in the early days of House's coma, and realized he could die suddenly, in the blink of an eye he could just stop breathing once again and this time the tube wouldn't come out, his heart would stop beating, his brain wold get its last bout of diffuse, overwhelming electrical discharges and then he would just lie motionless and silent. He made as if to raise his left hand to touch Cuddy's.

"I can't feel it." Wilson's feeble pitch trembled. "I can't feel my hand."

–

"You need to see him, House. Please." Cuddy pensively sank a sugar cube into her coffee cup with a silver spoon.  
>"He doesn't want t-that." He noted. "No s-sugar for m-me. L-literally."<br>Cuddy dropped the cube she was about to pour into House's tea back into a flower-painted ceramic cup, and pushed it aside. Laboriously, his hand sought to grasp the teaspoon on the table. She got a straw from a pouch in her purse and stuck it into House's cup, then helped his fingers on it.

"Here." She smiled. She kept his hand firm for a while and then released the hold, slowly. "Easier this way."

"T-that's awk-ward." He noted.

"Absolutely. And no spilling." The corners of Cuddy's lips turned slightly upward.  
>"You c-can't even k-keep it s-s-serious."<br>"I said no spilling."

They sipped their beverages in silence.

"Cuddy."  
>"What?"<p>

"You n-need to t-trust m-me." House's expression wasn't any sad, or undecided, or imploring. It was a matter of fact floating in his blue irises, glaring at Cuddy. "If you d-don't, we're g-gonna l-lose him."

–

November 29th  
>Conference room<p>

–

Foreman stood beside the whiteboard, holding a large-pointed black marker. Taub put a plate of bagels and three cups of coffee on the table and sat down. The wall screen got turned on and Chase's fingers selected a mid-axial view of Wilson's MRI scan from the day before. Cuddy and House sat by each other at the short end of the room.

"Respiratory arrest, low O-two sats, weakness, myoclonus, vomiting. _Hemiplegia_." Foreman declared.

"Repeat the MRI." House's order came out in a whisper.

"House..." Chase spread his arms. "We scanned him two days ago. He's not bleeding."

They sat in silence for some time, each focused on their own thoughts. The impact against the truck couldn't have caused any kind of serious traumatic brain injury. And it looked like it hadn't in fact.

"I'm t-telling you. He's b-bleeding." House noted. "It's Delayed Intracerebral Hematoma."

"House is right. It's the continued bleeding of microvessels fractured at the time of primary injury," Chase stood up. "Even if the first scan didn't show any signs, and neither did the one from yesterday... He's worsened overtime."

"We should see the bleeding expanding on serial scans." Taub noted. "It's the consequences of a process that should be beneficial but mistakenly goes too far." Taub checked Wilson's blood panels. "Crash triggers micro-bleeding. Brain cells die. Free radicals get released in the process of clearing cell debris, and cause further cell death around the primary injury site."

"We still don't know why he's bleeding, if he is. And why we're not seeing it." Foreman was already holding the iPhone to his ear. "The car crash can't be the principal cause." Someone answered the phone on the other end. "It's doctor Foreman. I need an emergency MRI scan for a patient."  
>Cuddy had sat through the whole process in utter silence. For once, she felt like she should leave House to do his thing with the team without intervening. Most of all, though, she realized how terrified she was of losing Wilson. Her friend whom she was once about to marry, on whose shoulder she had cried her eyes out when House had fallen ill, who had accepted her u-turn from their life together with the utmost humility: without begrudging her with one single bitter remark, one rancorous glance.<p>

_He doesn't deserve this._

Immediately after her thought, though, she heard House's voice in her head.

_People don't get what they deserve. They get what they get._

"We need to check his coagulation parameters." Taub stood up, folding Wilson's bloodwork into his patient file.

"Do you think he has a bleeding disorder of some sort?" Chase asked, pointing vaguely at the brain scans. "Something that's been triggered by the crash in a delayed fashion?"

"That makes sense." Foreman nodded. "It _does_."

House's orders interrupted their discussion. "I n-need to t-talk to Wilson."

–

Wilson lay asleep. The heart monitor beat its inexorable rhythm, oxygen flew through his airways and nourished his blood. The entire left side of his body looked weak and flat.

_He can't die. I can't let him._

House hesitantly raised his hand and reached for Wilson's needle-pinned forearm.

"That's gay."

Wilson's feeble smile cracked the dark of the room open wide. House couldn't help his own.

"Hi."

"Hi. Shouldn't you be on the miracle floor?" He whispered.

"Sh-shut up. L-looks like I'm your d-doctor now."

Wilson's smile faded away.

"I told them to leave you alone."

"I know." House raised his brow. "You won't g-get r-rid of me so easy."

"I almost did." Wilson noted jokingly. "But you woke."

"I m-meant... the other day." House's gaze darkened. "I'm s-sorry."

"Me too."

"I'm s-sorry for b-blaming you."

"It's okay. I was bitter. It's been hard for me." Wilson smiled tiredly. "I thought it was all my fault. Kinda self-centered," He admitted. "But I cared. A lot. All this time, I've tried to protect you."

"I k-know. I m-made a m-mess."

"No, House. It's different. I thought you were dead to us. For years." Wilson inhaled through the mask, then he pushed it aside. "When you woke up, I thought... I thought you'd be changed, and needy... Turns out we all were. You, and Cuddy, and I."

"We are." House felt like being finally delivered of a poisonous weight.

"It's been hard to accept it."

Wilson's eyes got foggy, his stare wandered through the shady room, focusing on nothing in particular. His consciousness was starting to slip away.

_We need to move fast._

"Wilson."

"Yeah."

"After the accident," House bent over to him, closer than he could. He needed to look him in the eye, see him alert for perhaps the very last time in his life. "D-did you have s-stiff neck?"

"..."

"Wilson. _Look at me_. What d-did you t-take for the neck?"

"Ibuprofen." He whispered.

"I think you're b-bleeding into your brain."

Then, Wilson fell unconscious, and all was left was the monitors beating the rhythm of his vital parameters.

–

"There is no risk unless there's some pre-existent bleeding," Foreman was looking at the new scans of Wilson's brain. "then it acts as a blood thinner... at this point it's too late."

They all could see the diffused blood-staining on the new scan.

"There was no way we could have detected this on the first CT." Chase noted. "Even with a contusion, tissues can look isotonic for days..."  
>"And then he went home and took ibuprofen, and he started having secondary bleeding in the microvessels surrounding the primary lesion." Taub rubbed his forehead. "And everywhere else."<p>

"Coagulation parameters are all messed up." Cuddy brought the new blood panels in. She slammed the sheets onto the glass table. "It's DIC from the trauma. It caused consumption bleeding that got exacerbated by the pain meds he was taking."

"House was right." Chase turned off the backlit wall panel. "He's gonna die."

They looked at the patient, lying unconscious before their helpless eyes.

–

"_House_." Cuddy hit him gently on the forearm to wake him up. He blinked awake, and turned to her.

"I'm sorry." Her lips tightened in pain. He could see the tears wanting out from the corners of her eyes.

_This is not happening._

"You were right. He's had microbleeding for six days due to traumatic DIC. It got evident on the last scan we did." She swallowed a lump in her throat. "It would have resolved if he hadn't taken ibuprofen for the stiff neck."

"What an idiot." House whispered. But the joke didn't get through. Something was breaking open inside him. A gaping chasm of some sort that was taking his breath away.

"We told him he was fine. CT looked clear. Nobody could've thought of that, then."  
>"We k-killed him." He replied, flatly.<p>

"No, House." Cuddy took his hand in hers, and bent over to him. "No. You know that. It's something he's developed afterwards. A few days have gone by, he came back here," She tried to reassure him but her own certainties were starting to shake. "And we found it. You did. You were right."

"I d-don't care." He paused. "He's g-gonna die."

_He's dying._  
>Cuddy dried her eyes with the back of her hand. "We're giving him IV fluids, and fresh frozen plasma, and saline. He's in the ICU, if you wanna see him."<p>

They gazed at each other, crushed by the heavy realization that something was going to change forever. Chase, Foreman and Taub stood by the door, ready for orders that they knew weren't going to come. Not at this point. Wilson's health had taken an unfortunate turn, suffering from complications from the head trauma that had been readily identified... though too late for anyone to save his life.

_What am I going to say to him._

House felt like his whole journey from the awakening had come down to this very moment, when he would see his best friend meeting a cruel, unfathomable destiny, so very similar to that of Amber, so many years earlier.

–

"It's my f-fault." House whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Shut up..." Wilson's eyes wandered in the darkness. He couldn't see House, or anything, clearly anymore. "I was tired and stressed out, and I took the car," he breathed in heavily through the mask. "I could have done this any other night."

"The things I s-said to you... You were a-angry."

"It's okay. We..." Wilson's speech was getting more and more laborious. "We're okay."

"I know." House's words couldn't convey what his eyes were yelling desperately at Wilson.

_I love you. I don't want you to die._

Their gazes met each other. Wilson's smile got House by surprise.

_How can you smile._

But it was clear that despite his suffering, the one thing that had worked in his life was still on, and that relieved him of some of the pain. Most of it.

"Yeah. You can't turn _us_ off, it seems." He whispered.

And then House saw it, crystal-clear.

_Inhibition of sulfonylurea receptor-one with injectable glyburide may provide protection against haemorragic transformation associated with recombinant tissue plasminogen activator in cerebral ischemia._

A seminar he had attended to please Cuddy just before the wedding, four years later. A rat-model of a drug that could reduce edema formation, swelling and haemorrage in the brain. Something which could contain the toxicity caused by the contact between brain tissue and blood. A way to minimize the damage and maybe hope for a recovery of what was left. Something that was gonna be _so_ illegal.

"Wilson."  
>"Yeah?"<p>

"This is your l-lucky day."

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue<strong>

Six Months Later

–

"So."

"So?"

Foreman and House exchanged looks. It was the end of May, and the breeze of springtime caressed the roofs of Princeton like a cottoned blanket, fresh and pure. House leaned against his left crutch and pointed the right one up to Foreman.

"Get out of my way." He grinned. "The Board can't be left waiting."

"As if you cared about that." Foreman joked. He moved aside to let House in.

House moved a slightly laborious step forward.

"Of course I don't care," He declared, turning back to Foreman. "But it's gonna be my fifteen minutes of fame and I don't wanna be late for that."

They stood in silence for awhile, House's joke landing quietly between the two of them.

"It's..." Foreman shrugged. "It's unbelievable. What you did, House... I'm,"

"Shut up."

"I'm proud of you."

House flashed him an amused glance.

"Your freedom ends where my signature lies."

"There's gonna be no special treatment. I'm gonna be your boss. Cuddy is gonna be your boss."

"Wait and see. I am going to paint your workdays a nice shade of hell. And Cuddy's."

Foreman raised his brow.

"Remember you owe me for getting you the glyburide last winter. _Legally_."

House turned serious.  
>"I do. Thank you."<p>

"Your exam starts in what, ten minutes?"

"Can't wait."

"You don't say." Foreman joked. "Good luck then." He held out his hand.

"Thanks."

As a neurologist, Foreman still watched House's progress with disbelief and amazement. As a friend, he was sincerely proud of what he had seen so far. He still had not managed to link the two: one year earlier, he had observed a slow, though miraculous awakening. House's brain had been scanned to infinity and beyond: it had rewired and reshaped itself in a way that had made it possible for House to shift from a minimally conscious state, to what was his life now. It had taken him three years to fight the damage of hypoxia, the fatal lack of oxygen supply that the cardiac arrest from the overdose had caused to his brain. Three years during which his tissues had healed and rewired, making new pathways to replace the broken-down mechanisms of the old ones. House was a ghost in a damaged machine for endless months, watched as a lost cause by every doctor on the Neurology and Neurosurgery floor. And then, his hollow looks, his decorticated posture had faded away, slowly. Every time his pager would go off during those times, Foreman thought that something was happening to House, that he was about to die on his watch. Instead, the less-than-one-percent scenario had happened: the crutches and the stutter were nothing compared to what it could have been, the sequelae to his reasoning mind were nonexistent. A surprise for the scientific community, another, less resonant "Terry Wallis case" to look at, and learn what classical neuroscience could not have taught to any scholar. So far.

A few minutes later, House walked in the examination room and sat down at a desk in the first row. His computer was already turned on and asked him for his personal data. While typing his name and date of birth, House could not help the chills running down his spine and the rush of blood warming his cheeks. One year earlier, he was fighting the ventilator.

"No cheating, no smart remarks, no cellphone." Foreman's solemn tone interrupted House's stream of consciousness. The entire Board was waiting at their seats: after years spent disapproving of his behavior, bedside manner, take on medicine and moral philosophy, they had gathered here to congratulate him on his comeback.

Walking past House's desk, Foreman imperceptibly touched House's shoulder.

"We'll be waiting for you." He whispered.

"You're _so_ gonna regret this." House snarked, in an amused hiss.

"I know."

Then, House was left alone in front of his future.

In the rear of the room, Cuddy saw his shoulders shrug pensively. She held out a smile and stood in the doorframe for a while. A few minutes later, she quietly left.

The room was shady and silent. House's stuff still lay all around: a pile of printed-out scientific papers on the windowsill, the last issue of the New England Journal of Medicine spread open on the armrest of the lounge chair, showing his single-case paper on the use of glyburide for minimizing damage in delayed haemorragic progression of traumatic brain injury; then doodled notes and sheets on the bedside table, and his guitar plugged into the amp set, resting silently. He had lived there, at Wilson's constant watch, for months. It had been his own road to recovery, and the definitive signature on their friendship.

"He's gonna be okay." Cuddy whispered to Wilson's ear. "We all are. I promise."

A tear elapsed from the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek as he lay, intubated, in the shady room. Cuddy adjusted the oxygen flow, then took his hand in hers and sat by his bedside.

House didn't miss one single answer and scored 100% in every section of the test. When he checked the very last multiple-choice question, he knew this was his second chance at life.

It all came down to this very moment: all had turned upside down in the recent years, all had been put on the line or had hanged on by a thread for some time. His friendships with Wilson and Cuddy first, then his own life, his mental and physical recovery, and then again his relationships, and Wilson's life. And now, he had to prove that his reasoning mind and his genius still worked as the legendary duo that had blessed so many lives, included that of his best friend.

It had been a year-long return for House. To loving and be loved. To making up and forgiving, and be forgiven. A long return to people and their problems, and his own: a return to life with its many shades of happy and tragic. A return to innocence.

A month and a half after Wilson got released from the hospital, House got board-certified for the second time in his life.

**––––**

Christmas Night, 2018

–

House's fingers tapped a silent, short tune onto his knees. That wasn't exactly satisfactory in terms of coordination, but what can you expect after an opioid overdose, cardiac arrest, hypoxic brain injury and coma?

He now aimed at the piano keys. One by one, the notes came out. His old, familiar living-room filled with music.

_Damn it. This sucks big time._

He repeated the exercise, faster this time. Then he turned to Cuddy, who had just come in from the other room, where Rachel had been tucked in, told to wait for Santa.

"So, what d-do you s-s-say?"

"That was pretty." Cuddy sat down beside him on the piano bench. "But I don't believe in marriage."

"Me n-neither." House declared.

"Me neither!" Wilson added, from the kitchen.

They all laughed.

"So this wasn't a proposal?"

"Of c-course not. We both tried with you." House snarked. "You're a lost cause when it comes to c-commitment."

"Fair enough." Cuddy raised her hands, sincerely amused. The whole load of their past had now become a source of benign irony between the three of them, and between House and Cuddy. She shrugged. "Never play a bridal march again, then. Not in my presence."

"I p-promise." House's lips curving in his secret smile were Cuddy's bliss and joy. She had watched him lie silent and indifferent to life for a long time and now he was back in her busy days, rendering them busier. And messier. She planted a kiss on the back of his neck, then slowly went up to his left ear. He lifted a hand and turned her chin to him. Their lips touched as he kept her close with his free arm, caressing her back with his open palm, savoring the texture of her skin underneath her satin shirt, finger by finger. As they kissed, the snow was covering the streets of Princeton.

When all the church bells in town rang the festive hour of Christmas, House and Cuddy woke up in bed, soaked in each other's embrace.

"Merry Christmas, Cuddy."

"Merry Christmas, House."

A few seconds of silence followed, during which only the soft tapping of the snow falling from the tree branches down to the rooftop was heard. Then, a contained whisper was heard from the living room.

"Screw your couch, House. My back is killing me."

"Stop the whining or go home." House replied, jokingly. They heard Wilson's footsteps on the wooden floor. Then, he materialized in the doorframe, wearing an embarrassing red pajamas, with furry white edges and a Santa cap. He now wore glasses because of the damage of the brain injury to his vision centers, which made the picture actually funnier and his overall, everyday appearance kind of fascinatingly intellectual.

"Up for a drink?"

They all walked to the living room. Soon after, three steaming Irish coffees were put on the table.

"Merry Christmas, guys."

"Merry Christmas, Wilson."

The End

* * *

><p><em>Oh, life is trial by fire<br>__And love's the sweetest taste  
><em>_And I pray it lifts us higher,  
><em>_To one safe place.  
><em>_One safe place._


End file.
